Transcendence
by Arcturus Peverell
Summary: It is said that convictions are more dangerous foes of truths than lies. What if the tale of the wizarding world wasn't the truth, but merely an interpretation of it? What if a single spark, instigated a man to do what was right, than what was easy? Starts at the end of fifth year. AU. [Elements from Fate/ Stay night] [Rated for Dark, mature themes]
1. Prologue

**November 26, 1996.**

The middle-aged man walked on the footpath on the right side of the street, idly watching the traffic go by. Swallowing the piece of pastry in his mouth, he lifted his right arm to his mouth and took the last piece of the cream pastry between his teeth. He chewed while pushing the now empty wrapper into his right pocket of his trousers. Feeling the brown paper bag his hefted in his left arm jostle slightly, he shifted his gaze from the road to the brown paper bag holding the groceries bought ten minutes ago. Continuing to walk, he adjusted his grip to ensure the bag did not tear. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted a group of boys talking with wild gestures and laughs as they stood by the high wall of a three storey house.

Dismissing them from his mind, he slowed his pace, hoping for the walk to last longer. Seeing dark clouds in the sky, he looked down and heaved a sigh but immediately looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching him. Expecting that it might be the boys trying to pull some kind of prank, his expression hardened but quickly relaxed at the sight of the couple who smiled at him.

The middle-aged man tightened his grip on the groceries and waved his right arm. "Hello guys!"

The couple greeted him back. "Hi, mate./Morning."

The three of them stopped on reaching each other. The middle-aged man asked, a mischievous smile on his lips, "Plans?"

The black-haired young man laughed, a blush coating his cheeks. "Well…"

The brunette smiled at her husband's blush and nervous answer. "We were just planning to meet some friends, Fabian. Martin just doesn't like to admit he was looking forward to this for over a week."

The middle-aged man, Fabian, gave a small chuckle. "Well, I certainly hope you have some fun."

"That we will, mate." said John. A contemplative look came over his face. "Speaking of meetings, Fabian, you up for a beer with me and the guys later? We are heading over to Boyd's in the evening."

"If my work is finished, sure."

The woman frowned at the brown paper bag in Fabian's arm. "Why did you buy more groceries this week?"

Fabian blinked. "I'm sorry?"

The woman gave a long suffering sigh. "You bought an entire lot of them two days ago." She pointed a finger at the paper bag. "Unless you have started eating for five people, I don't think you need those."

Fabian smiled, running his right hand through auburn locks. Cecilia was too observant some days. "A few friends of mine decided to raid my house last night. Drunk idiots nearly ate me out of my home." His smile widened. "Dropped them at home around morning five and checked my pantry." He jostled his bag slightly. "Went down to the Waitrose for some essentials."

Cecilia said, "Oh. Well, it was nice seeing you, Fabian. We'll be on our way now." She walked past Fabian, dragging Martin with one arm. "Come along, Martin. We do not want to be late."

Still getting dragged down the street, Martin turned back. "Stanley's at your gate, Fabian. Looked like he needed to talk to you about something."

"Thanks." Watching the couple walk down the street of brown buildings for a few seconds, Fabian turned around and began walking home.

Taking a right onto his street, he immediately spotted the distinctive Royal Mail uniform and the boy who wore it standing beside the metal gate of his home.

As Fabian neared the gate, the mailman smiled at him. "Morning, . It looks like a fabulous day, doesn't it?"

Fabian smiled at the boy, trying to dispel the nervousness he could see despite the uniform doing a very good job at hiding said. "That it is, Stanley. But why don't we talk about the real reason you are still standing in front of my gate when you could have just as easily dropped the package and left."

Stanley scratched the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. Gripping the belt of his satchel with his right hand, he shovels on his feet before looking straight at Fabian. "You see… I wanted… Could you give me some advice on how to… approach th-this g-g-girl I l-like?"

Fabian smiled, remembering an older friend who once approached him in exactly the same manner. Smile softening at the memory, he put his free hand on Stanley's shoulder. The boy slightly jumps at the contact. "Finish your work and come back to my home at five in the evening, and we will find a way to get some confidence in you."

Stanley was stunned for a few seconds before smiling brightly with a furious nod. Two seconds later, he learnt to use his mouth. "T-T-Thanks, . I won't forget this."

Fabian laughed. Laughed Hard. It had been far too long since he was asked for some normal advice. Wiping tears from his eyes, and adjusting his paper bag again, he looked at Stanley with a small grin. "I was just remembering an old friend, Stan. Don't think too much about it." He returned the boy's nod. "Now, if that's all you came here for…"

"Oh, no!" Stanley waved his hands in the standard gesture of denial. "I do have a package that I am supposed to deliver to you." Looking down at his satchel, he opened the bag and rummaged through it before lifting a standard file-sized brown envelope out of it. Holding it towards Fabian, he said, "This came in yesterday."

With a deep sigh, Fabian took the envelope and placed it on top of his groceries. "Thanks, Stanley. I'll see you in the evening then."

"Yes, Sir." Nodding again, Stanley hesitated for a second but walked away from the house and in the opposing direction from which Fabian entered the street.

 _Good Kid. I just hope he found a nice girl._ Shaking his head, Fabian opened his gate, walked in and closed it behind him. Glancing up and down the street, and finding no one, he turned around and walked up the sandstone path to the porch of his two storey red bricked Georgian house.

* * *

Walking past the wards he knew would not attack him, he stepped up to the front door, muttered a few words and opened the door. Entering the foyer, he locked the door behind him with a muttered word.

Grabbing the envelope, he dropped the groceries beside the door. Drawing his wand and vanishing them, he walked past the wooden stairs and pale yellow walls into the large family room.

Standing at the entrance of the family room, Fabian glanced around the twin couches and three armchairs scattered quite haphazardly and the fireplace located between two windows on the wall facing him.

Knowing the windows were reinforced with obscurity charms to prevent eavesdropping, Fabian walked forward and stood in front of the fireplace. Drawing his wand, he knocked the fifth stone above his line of sight. A subtle wave of magic passed over the entire house, providing him with the status of the wards and the number of beings in the house.

Feeling the wards at standard power and the presence of none but his own, Fabian tapped the third stone to his right.

The fireplace split down the middle and the two pieces folded into the wall revealing a narrow space leading to a well-lit area. Wand in hand, Fabian walked the narrow path that barely adjusted to his width. The entrance close behind him.

At the end of the path was what appeared to be a stone walled humongous library. Several glass shelves filled with scrolls, books, tomes, parchment, quills, inkpots, notebooks and several rune inscribed stones stood against the walls. A modern desk and a chair were located at the far end of the room and a plain black shield hanging on the wall behind the furniture. On the desk was a single file set to the side, a pen and quill holder holding an equal number of both and a small inkpot. Two chairs sat in front of the desk.

Fabian walked forward and occupied the chair behind the desk. Placing the envelope on the desk, he waved his wand over the file-sized piece of mail. It glowed blue for a few seconds before transforming into a modern blue file. He holstered his wand and picked up the file. Opening said file, he looked at the magically pressed white paper and began reading the report.

* * *

 **ATHENA Division**  
 **Shadowfall,**

 _All agents and assets involved in the creation of this report have been disposed of. Upon this report being written, verified, and sealed, I shall undergo a multi-tiered memory erasure regimen to remove all knowledge related to this report._

Report from Master Tactician Agumbe:

As per protocols pertaining to files containing mentions of the Council or the Shadows, this file is classified PURPLE with an OBLIVION tag attached. As such, only the Director, yourself, and those authorised by the Director may view the file.

Any attempts to copy this report, unless under authorisation of the Head of Shadowfall, will result in immediate annihilation.

All current information has been collected from various sources: International Guild Members, Vaults of Fabulinus, Council Enforcers, Alexandrian Archives and Knights of Walpurgis.

 **Caution:** Assume that the file is an understatement.

* * *

 **SHADOWFALL**

 **AZAZEL**

 **(TRUE NAME UNKNOWN)**

 **Overview:**

 _Formal Titles_ : UNKNOWN

 _Nicknames_ : Angel of Death

 _Race_ : Magical

 _Age and sex_ : Unknown. Estimated to be over 470 years; Presumed Male

 _Wealth_ : Unknown. Suspected to hold assets worth at least three million galleons.

 _Psychological Summary_ : [ **Caution:** Consider all data to be mere assumptions. Repeat, all data to be mere assumptions.] Based on all known evidence and historical records, Azazel appears to exhibit sociopathic tendencies with a complete disregard for any and all authority and morals. He is also considered to be a master manipulator.

 _Military Summary_ : UNKNOWN

 _Civil Summary_ : UNKNOWN

 _Education_ : UNKNOWN. It is speculated that he holds a mastery from, at the very least, one of the International Guilds.

 _Employment_ : UNKNOWN

 _Significant Family_ : UNKNOWN

 _Overall Threat Rating_ : Considered to be a LEVEL IV, but his ability to strike from complete obscurity and infiltrate the most secure locations classifies him as a LEVEL V.

* * *

 **Historical Notes** :

His magical signature was first found by investigators of the ICW beside the dead body of Paracelsus at the home of the alchemist in Salzburg, Austria in the year 1541. Further investigations revealed that an apprentice of Paracelsus had visited him a few hours prior to his death. Witnesses described a man of blonde hair, strange robes (probably wizard's robes) and a small goatee. All attempts by the investigators to locate the man failed.

The magical signature was again found by ICW War-Wizards during the French Vampire uprisings that nearly destroyed the magical community of France, Belgium and Spain. It was found in the base of operations of the French resistance and the hideout of one vampire Lord who was found staked and decapitated. Users of mage sight revealed that the bodies were charred using extremely concentrated bursts of light. Current historical analysis reveals that the destruction of the French resistance had nearly resulted in the destruction of the magical community of France while the slaying of the Vampire Lord halted the invasion in its tracks.

The same magical signature was later discovered by Elementals of the Magical Empire of China in the governor's palace after the massacre of Sichuan in 1645-46.

Twenty years later, an ICW Research expedition were attacked by a hooded figure who quickly incapacitated the ten-member team. The members woke up a day later to find themselves within a cave warded with powerful protective barriers and their belongings intact. ICW Investigators were completely stumped to find the same magical signature again. The ICW launched a furious investigation into the matter in order to ascertain the culprit and apprehend them. A year later, the inquisition was halted due to a lack of sufficient leads, but the signature was placed on a high priority list of offenders.

The owner of said signature was finally encountered in 1689 when the Knights of Walpurgis were attempting to retrieve an ancient artefact of power whose name is now known only to the Council. Perenelle Flamel led the forces of the Council and ICW War-Wizards against the Knights when a hooded figure attacked Perenelle. The man, according to the Lady Flamel and ICW records, fought Perenelle to a standstill, allowing the Knights to escape, the artefact in their possession. The hooded man escaped using a primitive version of a portkey. Finding that his magical signature matched the same on their high priority list sent the ICW and Council on the warpath. Sadly, they never did find the man even after six years of relentless effort and were forced to put the investigation on stasis. It was at this point the man was named 'Azazel' for the black wings of flames he utilized in combat. ( **Note:** Unable to find any references to the person who coined the term.)

In 1734, three Enforcers of the Shadows were found butchered in a mundane house in Moscow, the magical signature of Azazel permeating the gore. The Chinese Sorceress, Yun Zhao, was called in by the ICW Research Division to scry the man using the magical signature. The attempt ended in failure, the sorceress not willing to explain the situation before leaving.

In 1757, the Special Warfare Division of the ICW spotted Azazel fighting against the Dark Lord Pietro during their mission to eliminate said Dark Lord. Azazel assassinated Pietro before leaving a package for the War-Wizards and apparated away. The package left behind contained all the evidence needed to arrest the Dark Lord's allies and sympathizers.

From 1810 to 1840, a squib police officer in Britain reported several grisly murders of mundanes and squibs to the British Ministry of Magic once he spotted the signature of magics in the area. The investigating aurors sent the forensic analysis to the Alexandrian Archives Research Division who matched the signature to Azazel. No other traces were ever found.

In 1875, Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black encountered Azazel – Phineas did not recognize the man – within the Headmaster's office, speaking to one of the portraits. Before Phineas could react, Azazel stunned the man. When Phineas later woke up, he found the contents of the office, private apartment and those on his self to be intact and not missing. An investigation was led by the British DMLE for a few hours before the Council claimed authority and proceeded to take over the case. The results of their enquiries could not be retrieved, but it is known that none of the portraits claimed to have spoken to the man.

In 1932, Azazel's magical signature was found at the site of the Quidditch match between the Vratsa vultures and the Appleby arrows. Discrete forensic analysis revealed the bludgers, snitch, quaffle and the goalposts were charmed to ensure the Vultures lost.

In 1937, the military wizards of the Australian Ministry of Magic encountered Azazel at Uluru after the Ministry detected an unauthorized apparition into the country. He disapparated before the wizards could apprehend him.

Azazel's magical signature was found inside the Alexandrian Archives in the 'Magecraft: Elementals and Warlocks' section in the winter of 1940. No files were missing nor copies made. The situation left investigators stumped.

In 1967, He was found and attacked by Warrior Priests inside the Ise Grand Shrine, Mie prefecture, Japan, where the legendary Yata Mirror is purported to be stored. The Royal family refused to release any details, even to the Council.

In 1972, Azazel broke into the British Ministry of Magic and snuck into the Department of Mysteries and made away with a copy of every piece of research that the agents were working on. The theft was discovered too late and all attempts to locate the research were in vain.

In 1979, Azazel's magical signature was found by the British Aurors inside a Death Eater safe house filled with mundanes, a few Veela and werewolves beside the butchered bodies of thirteen death eaters.

In 1981, Albus Dumbledore witnessed Azazel and Voldemort engage in a magical duel where Lord Voldemort was wounded, resulting in him retreating via portkey.

The last confirmed sighting of Azazel was in 1988 at a temple in North India where he met several priests and left before ICW warriors could descend on the temple.

* * *

 **Motivations:**

One word: UNKNOWN.

The man, or what appears to be a man, has fought on all sides of the war, assaulting the ICW, facing the Lady Flamel in magical combat, butchered Enforcers of the Shadows, sabotaged a Quidditch team AND faced the Dark Lord Voldemort in open combat.

We have yet to ascertain any common goal or goals that would allow us a glimpse into the mind of the most elusive figure in the magical world.

* * *

 **Organizations and Affiliations** :

He has never declared any form of allegiance or affiliation with any organization or individual. In many cases, he appears to be a mercenary, although we have insufficient data to assume such.

* * *

 **Magical Abilities:**

The one time he faced Lady Flamel in combat, Azazel relied on a combination of Kotodama, the magical art of imbuing words with power, and advanced Dark Arts. His signature spell appeared to be two pairs of wings of black flames that he seemed to manipulate at will.

He is considered to be an unparalleled Ward breaker as he has broken into the Alexandrian Archives and the legendary Founder's Wards of Hogwarts and left the premises without being detected. The analysis of the barriers he placed around the ICW expedition team he attacked revealed tier-based and threading techniques considered so advanced that many of our systems now incorporate a reverse-engineered version of the techniques.

* * *

 **Notable Allies:** NONE

 **Notable Enemies:**

The ICW, The Council, Knights of Walpurgis, Shadows and over a dozen magical governments.

* * *

 **Psychology Notes:**

Our analysts only have speculation and wild guesses, which I shall not repeat here as I prefer hard data and deductive reasoning to random musings.

What my analysts all agree on is the fact that Azazel seems to not care for any form of life and is merely playing an elaborate game which suits his whims. They believe - all of them - that he must have suffered a trauma of soul-crushing magnitude to turn him into what he is.

* * *

 **Political Notes:**

Might be wielding political power through proxies or Polyjuice-based costumes, although the ICW, under the command of the Council, conducted a thorough investigation into mundane and magical politics on all continents and found every politician to be above board.

* * *

 **Warnings:**

If you believe in your wards, I suggest you tear them down, remove your ward stones and rebuild your ward stones, wards and shields from the ground up, preferably using soul, rune, blood, arcane, draconic, elemental, and any other means you can think of. Azazel has entered places of power with wards that were nearly considered unbreachable without significant effort and detection.

The man could have broken into the Council Chambers and we would not know.

Also ensure that the people next to you are trustworthy as any one of them might be an agent of Azazel.

* * *

Fabian closed the file with some vehemence although the file merely made a small sound. This was the third iteration of the file in as many decades and yet they were no closer to discerning the identity of the man/woman/vampire/whoever the hell it was. And it was quite heavy resources to gather the intel they needed. Some of them had to be sacrificed despite the uses they still had. Others… He hated this job half the damn time.

He could not reach out to any organisations without revealing his own and that was certainly not an option. They needed to operate in complete secrecy. Anything that was needed to achieve that was obtained without question. No matter the methods they needed to employ

Besides, contacting a third party was a moot point. Anybody he could contact regarding the details of this… ghost were none he needed nor wanted to talk to. Even in the best of circumstances, he knew he was not walking away from such a meeting without blood being spilt.

Rotating the file with the index finger of his right hand, Fabian stared at the blue colour. It had taken over fifteen contacts and seven agents to create this report. He knew, without a doubt, that all those sixteen contacts were now ashes in the wind. Cursing loudly, he picked up the file and threw it to the nearest wall. The file collided with a shelf, a ting sound reverberating off the glass as the same file fell to the floor.

Scowling at his behaviour, Fabian slammed his occlumentic shields to regain control of his emotions. Taking a deep breath, he summoned the thrown file with a wave of his wand. Placing the file aside, he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.

 _Azazel_. The name alone generated an automatic scowl on the faces of most enforcers. Considering that the name was synonymous with _failure_ , it was no wonder the agents of several organisations hated _it_. Whoever it was, they were incredibly good at what they did. One had to look no further than the undetected entry into the Alexandrian Archive, the largest archives in the world and one of the most highly secured divisions of the ICW. Despite the fact that _Azazel_ had stolen _nothing_ , or at least appeared to, the ICW was out for blood. Even the _bloody_ _Council_ was heavily involved and their search dogs… Fabian shivered slightly.

Wiping his face, Fabian turned towards the rest of the entire room. _Seventeen years…_ Over seventeen years had passed since then. Life was far less complicated in those days. Going out with friends, dinners and pranks with family… The thoughts, and memories they invoked, brought a smile to his face. They were difficult times but he would not trade them for all the gold in the world.

Glancing around, Fabian sometimes wondered if he had ever lived such a life or was it merely his imagination gone wild. Most days, he believed that this had always been his life, that he was born as an Agent. Trained to do nothing but complete one mission after another, discarding his emotions as nothing but tools to accomplish his tasks. His cheerful demeanour around this town had served to help people trust him. He snorted. _They should be running away from me._

Giving himself a firm mental shake, Fabian shoved his self-recriminating thoughts to the back of his mind. If he had time to mope, he had time to finish his work. Deciding on a course of action, he turned to open his right drawer and his eyes fell on the pair of black wings that adorned the seamless white file and the piece of parchment stuck to the corner.

He blinked at the sight, remembering the man who sent it to him six months ago. The one man on earth he could trust to not have any malicious intentions towards the world. The only mage he knew to have taken on the Dark Lord Voldemort and caused the monster to retreat. The ex-officio Supreme Mugwump and the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

Lifting the file and placing it before him, Fabian stared at the piece of parchment. Written on it were the words:

 _ **Black wings. If you have to ask, you will never know. If you know, you need only ask.**_

A few seconds later, the answer struck him and Fabian cursed at the roof quite loudly. "Bugger me! Idiot! Moron! Daft, foolish, stupid son-of-a-gun!" A distant part of his mind thanked magic for silencing wards.

Looking at the pair of black wings emblazoned on the white file, he sighed heavily. _Something must be wrong with me today. I keep forgetting my occlumentic emotional dampeners._ A few seconds later, he hung his head. "Looks like the old man did not lose his omniscience despite his age." Chuckling at his inability to not recognise the clue – He should have, a part of his mind whispered harshly – he stared at the file and whispered, "Azazel".

The black wings and parchment glowed bright for a second before the file morphed into a six-inch high stack of files with a letter addressed to Fabian pinned at the top.

Fabian reached for the letter, knowing that the message contained within was going to change his world forever. Picking it up, he held it towards himself, watching the neat calligraphic letters of his name sparkle in the colours of the rainbow. He chuckled at the sight. _Some things never changed._ It was an oddly comforting thought. Flipping it over, he opened the letter. Staring at the plain black calligraphic words, he began reading the letter.

The realisation that the magical world would forever be changed did not strike him until the end.

 _ **Dear Fabian,**_

 _ **Greetings on your recent promotion. I am quite sure that Rothford is placing heavy responsibilities on your shoulders, along with a serving of wonderfully imaginative curses. If not, well, I suppose you are indeed blessed by Lady Luck. As I have previously intimated to you, the initial plan for our mutual acquaintance has been discarded. I have deemed them to be worthless and would only generate more harm than good. New plans were devised to counter further alterations by third parties and related interests.**_

 _ **I have an important piece of information which I believe will both confound and amaze you. But before I give you the information, I have decided that it is time that I call in the life-debt you owe me.**_

Fabian frowned. It was a rather strange letter, the contents even more so. For Albus Dumbledore to call in _debts_ of all things, was not just odd. It was an anomaly and anomalies did not escape his notice.

Fabian had offered his services many times, yet Dumbledore had brushed him off, stating that he would only collect his debts at the end of his days

He had considered it the old man's eccentric way of giving a non-answer. The letter was also strange for the fact that Albus Dumbledore had used the same masking techniques he taught the original members of Shadowfall.

He stared at the letter wondering if it was a good idea to read further. He had been around long enough to understand the man's ideals and thought process. Dumbledore was known for truly byzantine plots with over a hundred or more moving pieces. Any normal strategist would outright say that such a plan was utter madness and would never, ever work. Yet, to everyone's surprise, they always did. Back in the day, it had served to irritate most of the organisation.

Fabian gripped the letter firmly. He might not like the idea that Dumbledore was using him as part of some grand scheme but the old man had never failed to do his best to protect the world. Besides, he owed the man a life debt. His honor demanded he continued with the current course.

Taking a deep breath, he continued reading.

 _ **As promised, the information. You will be glad to know that the suspicion was indeed correct. The mimic ability that our mutual acquaintance demonstrates is ostensibly similar to what we know of. I have also discovered quite a conundrum of an answer.**_

 _ **His affinity and origin are one and the same. Paradox.**_

Fabian felt his throat go dry. _An incarnation?_ He could not possibly leak this information to anyone. Not without severe consequences raining down on-

 _Wait._ Staring at the letter again, Fabian scowled at the singular word. _Paradox… What the fuck would that even mean?_ _A walking-talking contradiction? Magical and not, at the same time? Defense and Offense simultaneously? Human and, at the same time, not?_ Occlumency at full strength, he ran through the list of possibilities, trying to make some sense of what he was reading, hoping he had once read a scroll or journal that might have contained any piece of information that would explain this. Ten minutes later, he sighed at finding nothing but useless trivia and hypothetical research and obscure theories that he had studied or memorised during his stint as an offshore member of Shadowfall.

Frustration mounting, he looked at the letter and continued from where he stopped reading.

 _ **In order to settle the life debt, I seek two assurances. One, I have it on good authority that He is taking an active interest in our mutual acquaintance. Unlike the Flamels, his intentions will be far from malicious. But knowing Him, and the events that surround His participation in events, the two of us are well aware of what might occur as a result of His involvement. If things appear to be dire, I need your word that you shall do your best to provide aid.**_

 _ **Next. When it is necessary, our mutual acquaintance is going to need access to the Archives. I leave it to your judgement on the path necessary to achieve that.**_

 _ **Do this, and I shall consider the debt to be paid back in full.**_

 _ **Thank you.  
Albus Dumbledore.**_

Fabian scowled as he dropped the folder back onto the desk. _Access to the Archives?_ Did Dumbledore forget the security measures employed at the Archives? Forgetting the fact that the act was considered high treason and the culprit would be immediately executed – if they even bothered to capture us in the first place - it was far easier to try and attack a Guild than attempt such a foolish course of action.

 _This is madness._

 _But…_ Despite his thoughts to the contrary, Fabian knew refusal was not an option, and it was not just because he respected the old mage.

The very foundation of the Shadowfall organisation was built by Albus Dumbledore. In 1954, under the discretionary powers of the Supreme Mugwump, Dumbledore had commissioned, in utter secrecy, the creation of an organisation whose primary directive would be the security of the magical world and its inhabitants. The ICW Charter did give the Supreme Mugwump certain powers as long as said powers were used for the good of the magical world. Dumbledore had stretched the limits of the rule and Shadowfall was the end result.

Classified as _Theta-Green_ , the knowledge of the very existence of Shadowfall was limited to Albus Dumbledore, and to the members themselves.

To everyone else, including the Guilds and even the fabled _Council_ , Shadowfall did not exist. Every member of the organization served one singular purpose: To maintain the balance of the world, to protect when the titans clashed.

Shadowfall had begun with the motto:

 _ **Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?**_

 _ **Who will guard the guards?**_

For most of the world, Fabian knew, the ICW was the supreme head of the magical world. But that was merely a fraction of the truth.

In reality, the ICW was led by the Seven International Guilds, schools that offered the best education across several fields of magecraft. Above them were the illusive _Council_ , an organization that consisted of the true power brokers on the planet. The true leaders of the magical world and the only thing that stood against the _Knights_ and the _Shadows._

For reasons best known to himself, Albus Dumbledore had created _Shadowfall_ to serve as a form of resistance against the titans of the world and to prevent collateral damage that was inevitably caused by their shadow wars between the _Council_ and the _Knights_ / _Shadows_. _When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers most,_ the old man used to say. And now, after all these decades, the man was all but asking him to break the promises he made, ignore the very security he sought to-

The rune on his desk signalling an arrival at the front door.

Wand spinning into his arm, Fabian got up from the chair, walked past the shelves, through the now open narrow path and out the family room treaded towards the door. Reaching the door with sure, silent footsteps, his lips parted but hesitated to open the door as the bell rang again.

Being an Agent of Shadowfall came with its own share of perks and problems and, instinctually, Fabian had a feeling that this was going to be the latter. He had not felt _any_ of his wards trigger at the approach. That meant the person or person standing at the door were definitely muggles. However, the nagging feeling at the back of his throat did not leave him.

Clamping down his occlumentic shields, Fabian held his wand firmly and parted his lips.

He paused. Again

The doorbell rang. Again.

Finally, Fabian uttered the command and the door clicked open. The door swung open slowly. Fabian held his wand arm, his right arm, behind his thigh just in case the visitors were muggles.

The door fully swung open and Fabian froze at the sight.

A young man stood at the doorstep, a wide grin on his lips, eyes lit up with amusement and a familiar wand spinning in his left hand.

Fabian felt his hold on reality shift for a moment, as he tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. There was no way, no possible way that this was happening. Not today of all days. Especially not when he had enough surprises to keep him occupied for a year. _Merlin! Somebody up there must really hate me._

A moment later, Fabian regained his senses, eyes sharpening to razors. Staring at the familiar eyes swimming in face-splitting amusement, he pointed his wand at the visitor and angrily yelled, "YOU!"

The visitor's grin, if it was possible, widened further. " _Me._ "

* * *

 **AN: And that is how it goes folks! Skad and me, well… after what could be millions of improvisations and discussions over a potential plot material decided to just go ahead with this idea. And here you have it, a story that begins with an OC!**

 **Yes, yes, It is Fleur in the list, not JUST a Harry/Daphne. I know! (sigh!). Get over it!**

 **Reviewers: WTF? WTF? WTF? 5 stories vanished!**

 **AP: Well it was coming in for a long time. About time really!**

 **Reviewers: WTF? WTF?**

 **AP: That was elucidated rather well.** **Now, now, don't be impatient. You will get an update for the next chapter in a few years. Stay tuned!**


	2. Chapter 1

**MAY 16 1996**

"The prophecy's smashed," Harry said blankly. "I was pulling Neville up those benches in the - the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell…"

"The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly." Dumbledore answered after a significant pause. "That person…was me."

"You?" Harry questioned with disbelief. "You _knew_ the contents of the Prophecy for all this time? Then why keep it there, with all the guards and everything? Mr. Weasley would never even be attacked, and Sirius…" Harry couldn't bring himself to say it any more.

Dumbledore looked solemn. "It was a gamble, albeit a very risky one. I was trying to make Voldemort arrive at the Hall of Prophecy, to take the ball for himself. The confrontation with the Death eaters, it was staged and pre-planned for months. However, I must admit, I never quite saw this coming."

"Why the _hell_ would you do that?" Harry snarled. For the nth time, he reconsidered starting to break Dumbledore's possessions once again.

"To provide a definite proof that He had indeed returned. Nothing else would _convince_ Cornelius that he was mistaken."

Harry just seethed.

"As I said, Professor Snape found out that you were dreaming about the Hall of Prophecy. That said, I never expected that you, along with your friends, would actually travel to the Ministry like the way you did. It threw everything into disarray."

"So, it's now _my fault?_ That your _grand-plan failed?"_ Harry snarled.

Albus raised his hands up. "You misunderstand Harry. There is only one person to blame, and that person is me. I will be candid, you are _not quite_ as angry with me, as you ought to be."

Harry sneered in a way that would have made Severus Snape clap in delight. "Tell me about this… prophecy."

Albus sighed. This had been coming for a long time, regardless of how much he didn't wish for it to happen. Strange were the ways of Magic. He knew it as good as anyone that nothing ever came from trying to tinker with prophecies, since they would _always_ find a way to come true. Fate was after all, an instrument of Magic.

He got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch, and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand, and deposited them in the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybil Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before.

" _ **The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…  
Born to those who have thrice defied him,  
born as the seventh month dies…  
And the dark lord will mark Him as his equal,  
but he will have power the dark lord knows not…  
And either must die at the hand of the other,  
for neither can live while the other survives…  
The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord  
will be born as the seventh month dies…"**_

The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. "It… did that mean… What did that mean?"

"It meant," said Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again. "It means — me?"

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses. "The odd thing is, Harry," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyl's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then… but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?"

"The official record was relabelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyl was referring."

"Then — it might not be me?" said Harry.

"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it _is_ you."

"But you said — Neville was born at the end of July too — and his mum and dad —" He just had to be sure, had to be sure that it had not been a giant mistake.

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort… Voldemort himself would 'mark him as his equal.' And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong!" said Harry desperately. "He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. "And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood, which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing, but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

Harry was angered beyond belief, beyond rage, beyond anything he had ever felt. He tightened his fists so hard that the palms whitened from the pressure exerted. It took everything he had to not jump at the old man and… and… "And you think that – that just - that just because I _survived_ , by some random throw of fate, I'm supposed to be the chosen one? Voldemort, the most feared Dark Lord to ever live, chose me because I was a half-blood like him…" The words were positively scathing.

Harry could not possibly believe that the greatest wizard alive had placed all his hopes on a prophecy, especially one given by a drunkard who barely even remembered what hour of the day it was.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I know you think I am wrong, Harry." The student snorted harshly. "When I first heard the words, I too believed, as you do, that Sybil was merely trying to put on a show, to obtain a professorship she did not possess the talent for. Yet, when I was contacted by the Department of Mysteries, I realised that the prophecy I believed to be a hoax would soon come true."

"And you simply decided to sit back and watch?" Harry was livid. People were dying and the _old man_ had believed in words spoken by a – a- a charlatan, a choice that had destroyed his life. He hated Dumbledore for the fact that he was alive… and he hated himself for the realization that he was the cause of the death of his parents.

Dumbledore's smile vanished. "No, Harry. I did not, as you say, 'sit back and watch'. But Voldemort had learned of the prophecy and his forces were now searching for the child who would be his downfall. The child who would secure the future of Wizarding Britain from the hands of the Dark Lord and his followers."

At Dumbledore's mention of a future, images of his friends appeared before Harry's eyes. Ron and Hermione had stayed beside him for years despite the rumours and slandering they too had to face, and he had repaid that friendship by leading them to their death. Neville had trusted him to help, and the boy was now in the infirmary nursing severe injuries. Ginny had only escaped an instant death by pure luck. Luna… He hung his head in shame. Luna had been the only person in the school who had understood him in her own strange way. The girl might be eccentric yet she had never failed to provide him with true advice, and her payment for being his friend was nearly getting killed at the hands of death eaters. Frankly, he was surprised that they were all alive when, by all rights, they should have died twice over.

The Order members who had arrived to help him and his friends were now in the hospital or, knowing his dreaded luck, probably dead. After all, why should they too be alive when Sirius had…? Staring at the headmaster sitting in front of him, Harry felt a thread within his mind finally _snap_.

Oblivious to Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore continued to speak. "When that tragic night arrived, Voldemort had sent all of his forces on distributed attacks across the length of Britain. The Order, myself included, were busy helping the aurors and hit wizards protect the civilians when I felt the Fidelius on Potter Cottage fall."

A film of tears formed on blue eyes no longer twinkling behind half-moon glasses. "I had arrived there expecting, _hoping_ to find someone, anyone alive. The sight I first laid eyes on had nearly brought me to my knees. Two of my most cherished students dead, already moved on to the next great adventure. Yet… yet I found you in the arms of Hagrid. A familiar wound on your face, yet you were clearly unharmed. And when I finally learnt of the events inside the house, I knew at once the prophecy was true. Harry, you are the prophesized one. The one with the power to _vanquish the Dark Lord_. And when you do, Harry - for you will not stop until the evil that is Lord Voldemort can no longer harm your friends - on that day, you will finally gain the future you have always wished for."

Silence.

Then the most inexplicable of things happened. Harry _giggled._

Dumbledore was alarmed at the unexpected reaction. "Harry-?" he asked with some hesitance.

The giggles turned into voracious laughter. Yet, as Dumbledore stared at Harry, he knew it was not humour as something _far_ darker passed through the green eyes he had seen for two generations.

Harry, still chuckling, said, "Powers…and a _future?"_ A shadow flashed through his eyes. "A _future_ , Professor Dumbledore? This… _this abomination_ … that you call a prophecy, it has not given me a future." He laughed again, insanity dredging through his mind. "The _Boy-Who-Lived_ isn't a name, it's a _curse_."

As the Headmaster continued to stare in despair and growing horror at what might come about from the sudden circumstances, Harry's words oozed loathing, anger… and fear. "It was nothing more than a curse, Dumbledore. Your blasted prophecy took my parents away from me. It took away Si-" His face contorted. "It has done nothing but make my life a miserable heaping length of grief and fear, and it did not even have the courtesy to spare my friends either."

"I haven't _achieved anything_." He swiped his hand in a slashing gesture. "No. That's not right." A smile full of self-loathing played about his lips. "I did achieve _something_. I nearly got my friends killed. Ron is at the hospital because of those brains. Hermione is fighting death because she tried to protect me. Neville, Ginny and Luna nearly lost their lives because I was too weak, too easy, too freaking dumb to understand I was being manipulated by Voldemort. I am not the legendary Boy-Who-Lived. I am the touch of death."

Dumbledore widened his eyes at the last statement, a slight cough escaping him.

"This is why my life was so miserable, wasn't it, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry sneered. "For the first six years, I knew my name was _Freak_ , as someone responsible for anything and everything bad that happened around me. They said that it was my… freakishness that killed my parents, which caused them to become drunks and ultimately die. I lived a horrible life for the ten years. And even when I thought I finally found a home here in the school, I was always sent back. Tell me, was it my punishment for not dying?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock. "Harry, what do you-?"

"Don't play ignorant with me, Dumbledore." Harry yelled, green eyes glowing with a maniacal glint.

Dumbledore reached for his wand, unaware that it would not be needed. Not yet.

"You know what, Dumbledore? I am tired. Tired of your plans. Tired of this world. Tired of this _magical world_." Harry sneered. "I didn't choose to be magical. I didn't choose to become the boy-who-lived. MY mother and father had to pay with their fucking lives because they committed the crime of giving birth to me."

"Harry-"

"NO Dumbledore, I am not _finished!_ " Harry roared drowning out the headmaster's words. "They just had to… Cedric died because of me. Voldemort possessed Quirrel to get back at me. Mr. Weasley was nearly killed because of me. And now…" An unnatural silence filled the room.

"Harry, you are not-"

The rest of the words went unsaid as a massive burst of energy lashed out of Harry. Dumbledore managed to conjure a shield in time. The office did not fare well. Silvery instruments around the room exploded, shelves slammed into the ceiling before falling back down and the headmaster's desk smashed into the stairs leading to the private apartment.

Dumbledore, despite his shield, was thrown out of his chair and landed on his rump, a quick wandless cushioning charm saving his head from smashing into the floor. But, despite the chaos, his eyes never left the boy who was now standing, green eyes blazing with power.

"This… fucking _prophecy_ … this is the cause of everything. This is why Voldemort made me an orphan, why I had to live the life of a freak… this prophecy and this… _damned magic_. I never fucking wanted this… I did not want money, fame or the attention that these people seem to think I'm after." His voice went so quiet that Dumbledore strained to hear the words. "I just wanted to be normal…."

Harry's right hand raised up and, as though by command, Dumbledore's wand flew from his hand to settle in his palm. "The power the Dark lord knows not…. The power…the magic… If all of this is because of this prophecy, then this prophecy shall not exist at all." His eyes gleamed with a foreboding determination that made Dumbledore break out in a sweat. "Do you know the first _spell_ that I remember? I learnt it long before I even came to Hogwarts. I remember hearing it in my sleep."

He paused and bright green eyes met blue as he placed the tip of the wand right above his ear and against his temple as his lips twisted into a queer smile.

Dumbledore tried to push a wandless bani-

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

* * *

Harry was standing a few yards away from the Womping Willow, staring at the majestic castle which served as the introduction to the wonders of magic.

He blinked at the sight, mind trying to piece together what had happened before he arrived here. His mind immediately scrambled to remember how he had arrived here. The last thing he remembered was a bright green burst of light and the feeling of strings-being-cut passing through him.

Harry cocked his head, feeling quite strange and unable to place his finger on the source. But, despite everything he was currently feeling, he could not find it within himself to ignore the sight before him. It was very dear to him after all. The first place he could, and had, truly called _home_.

"Beautiful, ain't it?"

A voice floated to Harry from his left. Instincts honed over years of surviving danger rose to the fore as he quickly turned towards the source, hand reaching for a non-existent wand, and stopped short at the sight that greeted his eyes.

Sirius stood beside him, a roguish grin on his lips. For a moment, Harry wondered what he was doing there in this strange world. His godfather looked horrible. The clothes the man wore were tattered, large strips missing in many places. His entire body looked emaciated with grey skin, sunken cheeks and grime-coated hair.

This was not the Sirius Harry had seen through the past year. It took a moment for Harry to place this… rendition of his godfather. This was Sirius Black, the Azkaban fugitive and, if his memory served him right, this looked like the exact moment when Sirius had asked him to come live with him. He wondered if by some weird way, he had time-travelled back to this time back again but dismissed the thought as his friends, Remus and Snape were absent.

"Yes," Sirius replied, his face radiant with a smile. "This is the very moment when I offered you to come live with me."

Harry stood aghast, looking at him in shock as he noticed a detail he previously did not. The Sirius who had just escaped from Azkaban had eyes filled with madness and revenge. The Sirius he knew during the past year had eyes filled with love and fear, traces of madness still present in the grey eyes. However, the Sirius that stood before him had eyes filled with understanding and an experience that spoke of untold eons.

"Good to see you Harry. But I am not Sirius." The Not-Sirius said confirming Harry's suspicions.

Harry deflated at the answer, looking down at the ground covered in fresh grass glowing in the moonlight. "This isn't real, is it?"

"I'm afraid not." Not-Sirius smiled, before holding up a can of butterbeer towards him.

Had this been a different situation, Harry would have questioned how the man had gotten butterbeer of all things. In this moment, he simply accepted the drink without question.

Not-Sirius asked, taking a sip of butterbeer. "How do you feel being back here, in this moment?"

"I feel awful." Harry admitted, holding the can with both hands. Try as he might, he could not muster up the grief he felt was necessary. "This is the moment where Pettigrew escapes, when the dementors nearly kill you if it wasn't for my special brand of luck. Is… Is this my punishment? For trying to break the prophecy…" His voice was almost broken by the end as his memories supplied the answer to his mysterious arrival in this place.

Harry knew he had killed himself with the same curse of which he was purportedly the first survivor, and the reason he was a legend in the Wizarding world. While his decision did make sense in the moment, he now felt that he could have done better. Why did he have to choose to die when it was supposed to be the other wanker? Why could he not have chosen to get away from it all?

Although… this might be for the best. Now, he could no longer endanger his friends. Now, he did not need to always look over his shoulder for a homicidal dark lord. For now, and forevermore, he did not have to worry about being pressured by a world that had given him nothing yet demanded everything.

Not-Sirius frowned. "Not at all, Harry." He said, cutting off the boy's line of thought. "We thought that you would be more comfortable talking to a familiar face in a place you knew. I see we made a mistake."

"We?" Harry asked accusingly, eyes narrowed at the facsimile of his godfather. "Who's we?"

Not-Sirius' frown deepened. "That's… a little complicated to explain."

Harry at his wit's end. However, before he could shout, Not-Sirius pointed behind him. "Sit Harry." A plain comfortable looking red and gold couch was present behind the duo, moonlight illuminating the cloth as shadows of the Willow's branches passed over it.

Harry sat automatically, his mind still caught up in the situation he was in. Was the afterlife some great Room of Requirement? Was that why he was dreaming of Not-Sirius being alive? Where did the couch come from? Or… was he not dead yet? Could the killing curse even kill him? His expression darkened at the thought.

Sitting beside the boy, Not-Sirius snorted. "Neither of them, Harry. Let me explain." The man took a sip of his butterbeer. "What do you know about Magic?"

Harry looked at the facsimile in surprise. He had certainly not expected that question. Although, it was not like he had expected anything of the afterlife in the first place. He had fired the killing curse at himself and now, he was talking about, of all things, magic with what appeared to be his godfather. _Story of my life. Even in death, I'm a freak._ "It's the source of my power. It's what makes me a wizard."

"Yes," Not-Sirius' lips parted in a wide grin before it vanished, "and _No_." He leaned back into the couch and took a sip of butterbeer. "Your school really needs a proper History of Magic teacher, Harry. Binns has never been a good teacher anyway."

Not-Sirius paused, seemingly collecting the words he wished to impart. "When the first spark of energy created the universe and the reality you live in, we were there." He pointed towards himself. "When the last molecule stops vibrating and the universe is a barren wasteland, we will be there."

"I am talking to Magic?" Harry muttered out aloud, before berating himself at the sheer ridiculous nature of his thought. Although, it did kind of make sense. While he had ignored history class, he had, in the little spare time he spent away from his friends, read up a little on the origin of magic which stated that _everything_ in the world was supposedly governed by its rules, even the non-magical part of the world. If this was the afterlife, it would make sense for magic to be governing the passing of souls. _Although, the facsimile did say We instead of I... Is magic made up of many parts or something?_

Not-Sirius grinned as he answered, "Yes."

Harry's gaze instantly shifted the ground and towards Not-Sirius, green eyes impossibly wide. He definitely did not expect his hunch to be correct. "This…. This cannot be… I can't…"

Not-Sirius frowned, an expression of concern on his face. "Take a deep breath, Harry" He replied softly. "I understand that it is a lot to take in at the moment."

" _You think?_ " Harry almost sneered at the words.

Not-Sirius smiled widely, broken teeth visible in the gaps.

Harry turned away, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He continued to perform the exercise for a few minutes while Not-Sirius stayed silent. Once he felt he was sufficiently calm, he turned back and asked, "So, I am talking to the source of my magic, of all magic and it just appears to look like my godfather?"

Not-Sirius nodded briskly.

"That's trippy." Harry muttered, unable to decide if he should be excited or angry. Although, Sirius would get a kick of knowing that _Magic_ had chosen to appear as him.

Not-Sirius laughed. "We basically invented _trippy_ here."

"Why am I here?" Harry sneered at the entity that called itself Magic. "I did kill myself, didn't I? Is the prophecy so damned powerful that even _I_ can't kill myself? I can't live. And you won't let me die either. What am I fucking sup-"

A wave of energy shot past him though Harry felt it as clearly as he did his own magic. As he turned to spot the energy, it hovered a dozen feet away from him and had begun coalescing into unnameable shapes. A minute later, he found himself staring at a bright purple symbol.

The symbol itself was quite plain. A triangle containing a circle and a line bisecting the former and latter shapes through the median. The symbol, and the energy emanating from the shapes in purple sparks, felt very familiar to Harry although he swore he had never seen it before in his life. _In my life._ He felt the sudden urge to giggle but he suppressed it. He had already behaved like a madman in front of Dumbledore. He did not need Magic to think he was as insane as that Bellatrix bitch.

Not-Sirius got up, placing his left hand on Harry's shoulder. "There are many things that you do not understand, Harry. Once you do, you are free to do as you choose."

"Fine." Harry snarled. "Explain."

Not-Sirius placed his hands on his lap and asked, "Why did you leave your home, Harry?"

" _Home?_ " Harry was unable to keep the incredulity out of his tone.

"Yes, Harry." Not-Sirius nodded despite knowing the question was rhetorical.

Harry glared at the entity. "I thought you were going to explain why I am here."

"I am." Not-Sirius explained. "And the only way I can is to let you find your answers. So, tell me. Why did you leave?"

Harry growled at the entity. He hated such word games but knew he would not get his answers without humouring it. "I don't have a home to leave behind. I've never had one."

"That is a strange answer, Harry." Not-Sirius smiled. "I thought you considered Grimmauld Place your home."

It took all of Harry's restraint from not throttling the entity in front of him. Magic or not, it had no right to – to… "That was not my home. Even Sirius hated staying there. He felt like a prisoner in that place and you think that was my home?"

"Agreed." Not-Sirius said, without a hint of emotion. Harry felt stunned at the agreement. "What about Hogwarts?"

Harry quickly turned away. "It was never my home." His tone was bitter. He had always hated leaving the school at the end of the year.

"It never was, Harry." Not-Sirius said. "And it never will be." He ignored the boy's stunned gaze and continued speaking. "You have never considered Hogwarts your home."

He ignored Harry's spluttered denials. "Like Tom, Hogwarts was your escape from the world, from its bitter, jagged, dark reality. Like him, you chose to believe Hogwarts was your home when all you ever considered it was a refuge."

"You don't know anything about me." Harry snapped. "How-How dare you compare me to th – th - that monster. _We are not the same_."

"No. You are not." Not-Sirius agreed. "But it is the height of arrogance to think your circumstances were not similar." It ignored the boy's expression of pure rage. "There is a line in a certain novel: _When I understand my enemy well enough, well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him._ "

"You cannot sit there and tell me that you do not empathise with Voldemort, not when you have heard all of Dumbledore's stories."

Harry looked away, not willing to acknowledge the truth.

Not-Sirius smiled, knowing he had hit the chink in the armour. "Self-deception is the major failing of many. Do not go down that path, Harry."

"If you know so much," Harry's voice was oozing anger as he turned back to face the entity. "Why don't you tell me what I should think, eh?"

"First, you should _know_ that you will have a home." Not-Sirius answered. "The world is a vast place filled with all kinds of things. Somewhere, there is a place that is just right for you, and when you see it, you will know you have arrived."

"Stop talking like I'm going back." Harry snapped at the presumption. "And what's the second?"

Not-Sirius pointed at the still floating symbol. "Follow that."

Harry opened his mouth to ask another question when Not-Sirius disappeared. Groaning at the chore he was being put through, he got up. "I thought the afterlife was supposed to be dull." He muttered under his breath.

He turned on his feet to find the symbol was floating through the air in the direction of the castle. Taking a deep breath, he gave chase.

* * *

Time stood still and the world went silent.

When time began running again, silent tears streamed down the silvery white beard. Albus Dumbledore ignored the tears, his gaze transfixed to the sight of Harry Potter lying on the floor beside the table. A second later, the reality of the situation hit him, and he all but roared his anguish. A quick movement, and he was beside the boy. Tears still streaming down his beard and robes, he ignored the wreck that was his office and its contents and lifted the boy, hugging him to his chest tightly.

"I'm sorry, my boy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"

His breath left him for a moment as he felt a slight movement against his chest.

The boy was still breathing. It was too light, too fragile for a teenager but Harry was still breathing. Dumbledore could feel the magic inside Harry's body swell and crash like the waves of the ocean. It was too unstable for a fifteen-year-old.

But hope rushed through every pore of Dumbledore's body. That which he had always hypothesized, had come true. For reasons he was still uncertain about, the killing curse rid Harry of his horcrux. Dumbledore could no longer feel the taint infecting the boy, and he had never thanked Magic more than he did in that moment.

 _Then… why isn't he waking up?_

Was Harry stuck in his version of limbo? Was something preventing him from waking up? Hundreds of questions ran through his mind but his guilt regarding the treatment of the boy overwhelmed it all.

 _I have wronged Harry in ways he cannot even fathom. And even then, despite everything I and the world threw at him, the boy chose to end his own life rather than kill us out of vengeance. The Council… we all feared that he will… and he…._

Dumbledore shut his eyes tight. Was this how it had come to pass? They, the guardians of the magical world, had destroyed an innocent child's life, destroyed it with such ruthlessness that the child despised the idea of being _magical_. The child would loathe his life so much that death was preferable?

 _Not again._

Dumbledore would repay Harry for the injustices the boy had to suffer. He would make sure that Harry survived. He would make sure that those… that Harry would never be manipulated once again.

 _I will even the odds for you._ Dumbledore felt the change in his magic as the oath took effect. Simultaneously, a terrible feeling rose in his body as his vow to the guilds broke due to his oath. He knew what that meant.

"But it doesn't matter." Dumbledore muttered to himself. "When I have done what needs to be done, I will have gained my peace, which is more than what any of them shall achieve." His body felt the pain as another wave of magic lashed out of Harry's body.

"I need to get him to Poppy, now."

* * *

The doors of the Great Hall opened with a bang, the doors hitting the walls, as Harry rushed in to another unexpected sight.

It looked like Christmas had arrived. Wreaths and glittering decorations hung on the walls as hundreds of candles floated below the enchanted ceiling. A large Christmas tree decorated to the brim stood before the teacher's table with dozens of gifts present at the bottom of the tree. The tables were filled to bursting with all kinds of dishes, some of which Harry identified as foreign fare from his fourth year. The major difference to this construct and Hogwarts was that all the tables were absent of people. All except one, where a lone student sat eating a great roast turkey.

"Cedric…" Harry whispered staring at the Hufflepuff seated at the respective House table enjoying a sumptuous meal. He could scarcely bring himself to believe this was the same teen killed by Pettigrew.

"Sit Harry," The teen waved Harry over to the seat beside him. "Sit."

Harry sat beside the teen who had continued to eat the roast in front of him. A second later, he wondered if this was just another facsimile made by Magic. "You're not Cedric." He stated frostily.

"I'm not." Not-Cedric agreed, a little too cheerfully.

"I see what you are doing." Harry returned with all the warmth of a blizzard. "First Sirius, now Cedric. You want to drown me in guilt because of all the people who died by my faults"

Not-Cedric laughed, a fried leg in his left hand. "I assure you, Harry, I did not die _because of you_. I died because it was my destiny. To be the first innocent blood to be spilled on the line of war. Sirius," He paused, "he died to save you, as a proud godfather would have done."

"But-" Harry tried.

"It was not your fault, Harry. _Never your fault._ I chose to touch the cup with you. Pettigrew cast the killing curse and Voldemort gave the command. You, on the other hand, chose to share victory with me. Even when you had to run, you chose to not leave me behind with Voldemort."

"I died, Harry. Nothing was going to bring me back. You cannot change that, no matter how much you think about it."

Harry wanted to snarl at the imitation, shout that it wasn't Cedric and it had no right to assuage his guilt. But he found himself saying, "If it wasn't for me…"

"If it wasn't for you, I would not have had a funeral. My father would still be looking for me, wondering if I was alive or not. You brought him closure." Not-Cedric smiled at the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, the plate of food now forgotten. "That means a lot, Harry."

"You don't understand." Harry shouted. A part of him whispered that it was not Cedric, but a greater part of him needed the teen to understand that his death was Harry's fault. "You would have been alive if Voldemort was not after me. He interfered with the tournament to get to me. He killed me because he only wanted me. I led you to your death, Cedric. _You know that_."

"I am not going to blame you because you believe you can finally start hurting the way you should be, Harry Potter." Not-Cedric smiled sadly.

Harry felt his breath clench at the words. All those months when Dumbledore had left him alone after the tournament, Harry had beat himself up over Cedric's death. He had spent days roaming the streets in a haze, hoping that it was nothing more than a dream, that Cedric might show up when he arrived at Hogwarts. None of them, not his friends or Sirius, had blamed him for Cedric's death. He didn't understand how they could show him sympathy when, by all rights, they should hate him for everything he did.

"You, on the other hand," Not-Cedric said, cutting through the other teen's morbid thoughts. "-made one mistake, Harry. You let Voldemort win."

"You threw away your life, Harry. You decided to let the sacrifice of your friends go in vain. You disregarded the sacrifice of your parents. You dishonoured Sirius by killing yourself."

"That I am a coward, is that what you want to say?" Harry sneered, pushing down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. He could not afford to show weakness.

Not-Cedric smiled. Harry suppressed the urge to pound him in the face. "No. On the contrary, you were strong and resourceful in ways you don't even realise. Living with that abomination attached to your soul, the bindings on your core, with every piece of misery inflicted on you… you managed to grow up to be the person you are today. You fought off all of Voldemort's attempts to both seduce you to his side and possess you. Frankly, it's astonishing that you haven't-"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted the teen. He was feeling quite overwhelmed with all the information he was learning in such a short period. "What abomination? What are you talking about?"

Not-Cedric's expression turned solemn. "A Horcrux. The vilest of dark magics. The most disgusting of acts, one that tears the soul into pieces so that the caste can pretend immortality. You had a piece of Voldemort attached to your soul."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. His scar…. His scar had been a fragment of Voldemort's soul? Was that why it had always pained back in first year? Was that why he had been dreaming about Voldemort? _Was that why…_ he thought bitterly, _Voldemort was able to trick me to come to the Department of Mysteries?_

"I have a horcrux in my-" He stammered.

"You _had."_ Not-Cedric corrected him blandly. "It was obliterated when you tried to kill yourself using the killing curse. Very smart, Harry. I'm was worried you might try a decapitation hex. It would have killed _you_ instead of destroying that abomination."

Harry scowled at the boy's insinuation, but didn't refute the statement at the teen's teasing grin.

"My apologies, Harry," Not-Cedric grinned unapologetically. "But yes, you are, as you now believe, free of the horcrux. I am sure you will soon notice some changes when you return."

"Now hold on," Harry interrupted, much to Not-Cedric's surprise. "There is no _going back_. I am done with the world I knew, and there is nothing for me back there. I just need my _parents_ , and _Sirius_ , all of whom are already dead."

Not-Cedric grinned. "All right." He agreed easily. "But you need to catch that first." He directed towards the Headmaster's chair on the staff table, and, hovering over the wood, was that damnable triangle symbol, glowing brightly as it began to drift towards the adjacent door. Not-Cedric vanished.

Harry groaned.

* * *

It had been over four hours since the incident in the Headmaster's office and, for reasons unknown, Harry Potter was yet to come out of his coma-like state. His breathing was still shallow and his magic was in a constant flux, random bursts radiating at odd intervals, the infirmary bed trembling slightly every few seconds.

Under powerful secrecy vows, Albus Dumbledore had recruited Minerva, Snape and Poppy to help stabilise Harry's magic and prevent collateral damage by using as their bodies as foci to help channel the bursts into the wards of Hogwarts, the only sink powerful enough to take the power. Dumbledore knew the teachers would not be able to handle the backlash and he was currently too weak to act as a channel.

It was a good thing that all three professors were rather accustomed to doing as asked without inundating his person with inane questions. That certainly did not mean that Dumbledore was misunderstanding the angry glare that Minerva had directed at him since first sighting Harry. Minerva, he could handle later, but right now, it was necessary that Harry's magic be held back from obliterating its very host.

The aged Headmaster glanced at Poppy's face, finding a rather nasty scowl on her face. She had just performed several diagnostic tests on him. Calling on the courage which made the Sorting Hat decide to put him in Gryffindor a lifetime ago, he ventured forward. "What's wrong, Poppy?"

Poppy's scowl deepened at the question. "What, _exactly_ , is wrong with him, Albus? His magic is a constant state of flux; the kind of result I usually see with wizards or witches being hit with an extremely powerful curse. One moment, the readings are a complete zero. The next moment, the readings are off the charts. Frankly, I'm surprised the power did not lash out far more severely. We are lucky the infirmary is still standing."

Minerva felt a shiver go through her. When she entered the infirmary after Albus had sent for her, it was to the familiar sight of Harry lying on his customary bed and the unfamiliar sight of magic rolling of him in waves that caused the entire room to tremble. She had immediately moved across the distance and, under instructions from Albus, begin channelling beside Severus. Once Harry was suitably stabilised and the sink was constructed, she had demanded answers from the old mentor and Albus had given his customary answer: _all in due time_. It was infuriating her.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. It seemed that his assumptions were correct. The horcrux was now gone and Harry was stuck in a limbo trance. Based on what he knew; Harry's magic would continue to behave like this until either his magic settled down or he returned from his trance.

Based on the glares he received from the females and the curious look from the single male, Dumbledore knew could not tell the entire truth, not to them. Not when it was no longer his secret to share. Clearing his throat, he explained, "Since that Halloween night, Harry's core was bound with highly powerful and advanced power binders. This was to ensure both accidental magic did not occur and that his power did not lash out to harm others. The binders were placed in a manner that only allowed him access to a portion of his power, ensuring he stayed at the level of an ordinary witch or wizard." Ignoring the shocked gasps and angry glares, he continued his explanation. "The rest of his power was leeched to empower the wards placed around his home to protect both Harry and his family against Death Eaters." He paused for a moment, knowing the coming revelation would forever sour their relationship with him. He called on the remnants of his courage and hoped that Poppy or Minerva did not kill him. "As you know, Sirius Black died tonight during the events at the Ministry, and Harry here, as a result of learning of certain secrets pertaining to him, felt it was better to die than to live and have magic."

Minerva gasped, her palm over her mouth, as it hit her. "Albus, surely you don't mean that-"

"He cast the killing curse on himself." Dumbledore replied, grief pouring from every word.

The greatest reaction to his last statement had not come from Minerva as he expected. Nor Poppy make a move against him. On the contrary, it had been Severus who had lashed out, delivering a well-placed punch to the old man's jaw. The headmaster had flown back three feet, crashing into the floor as the pain finally registered.

It was a few seconds before Dumbledore managed to make his way through the cobwebs of pain and dizziness to see Minerva and Poppy staring at the Potions Master with expressions of shock. Severus, on the other hand, looked while he was contemplating his death in the most brutal manner possible.

" _You Bastard!_ " The Potions Master seethed, his right arm dripping blood onto the floor. " _You sanctimonious bastard!_ " His wand leapt to his hand and the entire knowledge of Dark arts he knew cycled through his mind, ready to curse the old man into the realm of the damned. "I put my life at risk because you promised you would protect Lily and her child. Even after her death, I served you all these years, helping you protect her child from danger because you promised that you would help keep him safe. How _the fuck_ did you allow him to _kill himself_?"

"I was- I was-" Dumbledore found no clever answer or truth to give Severus. The pain in his jaw was blinding but his focus was now on the man who had sworn to keep the child at all costs.

"Your reasons no longer matter, you old goat." The Potions master sneered and his fingers tightened around the wand pointed at the aged old wizard, the tip glowing a familiar eerie green. "Avada-"

"SEVERUS!"

Contrary to everyone's beliefs, Poppy halted the incantation. " _Get a hold of yourself_!" She chastised the man who still had his wand pointed towards Dumbledore's head. "What has happened is now in the past. Killing _him_ will not change a thing. Harry has fired the killing curse on himself, true. But again, like in October 1981, he has survived such an attack on his person for the second time." She frowned to herself. "I am doing the best I can, but I might not be able to wake Harry up any time soon." _Or not at all._

Minerva still stunned at the turn of events and glaring at the Headmaster and the Potions Master, asked, "What is happening to him, Poppy?"

Poppy scowled. "I wish I knew, Minerva. I have not seen such readings before." Taking care to maintain her channel to both Harry and the wards, she cast another diagnostic charm. The boy glowed green for a second, then turned blue, red, black and green again. "It is almost like when a witch or wizard first gain access to their magic consciously. The first time their magic comes into the awakening state, their core reserves tend to fluctuate like the way Harry's magic is currently fluctuating. It takes a week or more before their magic settles down. That's why a binder is usually placed during that period to prevent severe magical acts or backlashes."

"Harry, on the other hand, is now past his full maturity. At this stage, his core must be a smaller state of flux until he reaches the age of twenty-one. But no healer has ever had to work with someone who survived the killing curse."

From the corner of her eye, Poppy recognised Severus reforming his channel to Harry and the wards.

"Best I can tell, his magical core is currently unravelling all the binders placed on it, which in itself is a danger, as binders must only be removed by professional healers. Since I cannot read the binders he has without causing further harm, I'm guessing there were either _too many_ binders or the ones he does have are extremely powerful." _How did I never sense them? They should have shown up during at least one of my diagnostic checks before this year._ "Hence, the reason for the severe backlash. It's almost scary how much power the boy has." Turning to scowl at Dumbledore who was still in the floor, she snarled, "And you tried to keep the boy _with_ his binders for _fifteen years_? Binders are always, _always_ removed by the age of eleven. Not only does it prevent the child from properly casting magic, the child might try to force their core to perform better creating a feedback loop into the binder that could kill not only them, but anyone beside. If we did not need you right now to save Harry, you would be lying in the long term spell damage ward at St. Mungo's, _ALBUS_."

"Poppy." Minerva spoke in a dispassionate voice, causing the healer to quickly turn back to her patient. "Harry…" She trailed off, knowing the healer would understand.

Poppy berated herself for nearly losing control. Control was the most prized aspect of healers, knowing that even a moment of distraction could result in the death of a patient. Looking at the non-awake form of Harry, she wondered how he had even managed to cast _any_ spells. The level of backlash usually indicated the power of the binder or binders. In this case, however, she was at a loss. By all accounts, Harry was magically stronger than his peers. Poppy had treated him long enough to know that.

But based on the information given by Albus and the power Harry displayed regularly, Poppy postulated that it might a single advanced binder with interlocking limiters under an obscurity charm to both allow a small trickle of magic to ensure the boy could cast spells and hide them from the checks of any healers. It would explain why she was unable to sense them before. She did remember reading an article in the Hippocratic Monthly years ago about a sorceress in Vietnam who had developed such an obscurity charm, although the reasons for developing it were never revealed.

She would have asked Dumbledore, if not for that fact that he had readily admitted to performing the binding in the first place. A callously cruel act for she had heard of several cases where such bindings had caused the deaths of several children when left fester to beyond a particular age.

Wiping the sweat that begun to build on her brow, the healer grimaced as a particular powerful wave of magic pass through her. She might have to drain his magic herself if this continued as channelling for longer periods of time tended to cause damage to the magic circuits and the nerve endings.

"Right now, the only thing we can do is try to keep his body safe and functioning until Harry is able to wake up. As sad as it is, we need the Headmaster for that." Her words had a raw, unspeakable ferocity to them, something that was completely out of character for the Hogwarts matron.

Snape sneered at the man. "I will help you _this one time_ , until _Lily's child_ is back to health. Once the child is healed, I shall be re-evaluating our relationship with you, and this school. Both have shown a recurring theme of taking things which matter most to me."

"I know neither my reason nor my apologies mean anything to you, Severus." Dumbledore replied sorrowfully, as he slowly picked himself off the ground. He knew that the trust the man had placed in him was well and truly lost, and Poppy would sooner trust Severus to not bully students before she ever trusted him with a child. "I will not stop you from either course of action should you choose to do so, Severus. But I implore you to wait a little longer. Harry will wake up. I know, with every bone in my body, that he shall, and when he does, he will need the help of us all."

* * *

Harry raced all the way past the stairs, past the portraits and finally chased the symbol through the open portrait entrance of the Gryffindor common room on the seventh floor. Just as he had expected, he found himself in the near empty common room.

Just like the Great Hall, it resembled the room at Hogwarts although this room held a power that the original lacked. The room shone brightly from the light of the fireplace. The red and gold paint of the walls shined with an otherworldly brilliance. The couches scattered around the room looked to be far more pristine than he remembered, and the armchairs were painted in shadows and light. Harry had always remembered that fact that the room seemed to accommodate the entire student population of Gryffindor Tower although the size of the room never seemed to change. He had tried several times to spot the change when it occurred but it always eluded him.

When he turned back from the view of the night sky through the high windows, Harry froze at the sight of the adult seated in one of the two armchairs.

"Dad…" He breathed, but immediately berated himself. This was not his dad, just another facsimile created by the entity calling itself Magic. However, he also knew he would not stop talking to them like they were his family.

"Hey, son." Not-James Potter smiled, beckoning him towards the other chair. Harry could tell what it was that was coming next. "Sit Harry, sit."

Unwittingly, Harry sat down. "You are not him. You are not James Potter." He knew he was simply repeating the truth they both knew.

Not-James chuckled. "I sure am not."

"Then why are you doing this?" Harry pleaded.

The expression on Not-James was extremely grave. "You are here because you are on the path of committing a grave error. No matter how right you think you are, it is still a mistake."

" _Mistake_ ," Harry breathed sharply. "Is it? My wish to be reunited with my parents is a crime?" He was angry at the entity or entities, whoever they were, for trying to dictate his course of action. It was not enough that they were throwing his failures and weaknesses at him. Now, they wanted to berate him for choosing to be with parents who loved him instead of a world that hated him.

Why did even his death have to be more than others? Why did he need this _special_ treatment? Why did he have to be singled out every single time? "Tell me." He sneered. "Does everyone who die get chastised by you?"

Not-James chortled. "Oh not necessarily. You, like one of the few, get the special treatment from us."

Harry dearly wanted to snap the thing's neck, but could not bring himself to assault what appeared to his own father. Turning to stare into the fire, he seethed at the injustice of it all. He did not want to be special, damn it! "The only _special_ quality about me is that the people around me either die. I am nothing more than the touch of death. In order me to live, my parents sacrificed their lives, Cedric was killed without reason and Sirius… Sirius died trying to protect me like my parents." His chin hit his chest, remembering his friends who were struggling to survive back in the living world.

A flash of insight made him wonder if Voldemort was already dead because Harry killed himself or if he was still alive. A chill of dread passed through him at the thought of Voldemort attacking his friends in retribution, or for fun as images of Bellatrix holding Hermione under a _Crucio_ , Ron being tortured by Lucius and Neville being put in the same state as his parents or Ginny being possessed again or Luna-

 _NO!_ His mind roared at him as Not-James sat in absolute silence beside him. _No! No! No!_ He was dead. Voldemort did not need to go after them anymore. They were innocent.

 _Are they truly?_ A traitorous part of his mind whispered. _They came with you. They fought beside you. Neville even tried to kill that insane bitch that Voldemort calls a follower. What makes you think they won't go after your friends because a pathetic freak like you simply killed yourself?_

Harry shook his head violently, unable to stand his thoughts and trying to retain his resolve to stay here. He did not need to go back no matter what Sirius or Cedric or what-looked-like-his-father said. He did not have to go back. They would be safer without him.

 _Is that the truth?_ His mind supplied unhelpfully. _Or is that what you want to think?_

Not-James looked solemn. "There are so many things you do not understand, Harry." The words interrupted Harry's thoughts and when the boy looked up, it seemed Not-James knew what he had done. "Secrets that have been kept from you, memories never shared and things you should have received. You do not even know the truth of your own family, Harry. Did you ever wonder why you did not ask someone for more information about your family?"

Harry sunk deeper into his seat, not willing to face the truths being pushed at him. Did _Magic_ hate him so much that it wished to taunt him with all his hopes, dreams and fears…? He knew he did not truly seek the truth. He understood the reason too. He was afraid, afraid that he might not like what he found, afraid that everything people told about them was a lie and he was nothing more than a scared little kid who still sat in the cupboard waiting for someone to save him.

"Over a thousand years ago" Not-James said, interrupting the boy again. "The Potters did not exist. We were known by our _true name_. A _name_ that is now considered to be a myth of the wizarding world, our legacy reduced to bedtime stories told to children by their parents. A _name_ that is feared by magus with a passion, especially by those unwilling or unable to accept the truth of history."

Harry wondered if there were any more surprises left because you felt numb. While he may not have actively sought information on his family, he certainly had not stopped wondering what they were known for. Their achievements, the history they made, the world they created and eve their business ventures after he had first laid eyes on his trust vault.

But he had never expected that his family name was not even real or that his true name was _feared_ by the rest of the world. In fact, it might be the reason why people seemed to hate him on principle. _The universe must have a really sick sense of humour._ The scathing thought floated around his mind.

"Oh, yes!" Not-James said. "What you do know about the Potters is nothing more than what everybody knows, and it is nothing more than smoke and mirrors." At the boy's stunned expression, he chuckled. "We are one of the oldest magical lines in the world, with the power to crush our enemies underfoot. We were the guardians and the invaders, the protectors and the punishers." Hazel eyes glowed with power. "We are the House of _Peverell_."

"Peverell." Harry repeated as he turned to face the facsimile beside him, desperately exploring his memories to try and find a single reference to the name.

"Do not waste your time, son." Not-James waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Anything you might find on our family is either part of myth and legend or lying in vaults of unbreachable security."

"So, here is a quick lesson. You are descended from a legendary mage known as Alduin Peverell, one blessed by _three True Magics_ , the only one of his kind in the world. _You_ are the twenty-first descendant of his line."

"True Magics? What's that even supposed to mean?" Harry questioned. Inwardly, he was cursing himself for not trying to find more information on his family. He had faced dementors and watched his mother died. Surely, he could have mustered up the courage to learn about his own.

Not-James chuckled. "You seem to think that waving a wand and saying a few fancy looking words is all there is to magic." Leaning toward the boy, he waved a finger. "Remember that this is _magic_ , Harry. There is always more to it."

For some reason, Harry found the statement rankled him. "You're telling me there is more than just wands and potions and runes?"

Not-James chortled. "Hogwarts is not a school of _magic,_ Harry. It is a school of _witchcraft and wizardry_."

"Isn't that the same?"

Not-James chuckled. "Hardly. Time for a quick lesson on Magical theory." He leaned back in his chair as the boy leaned forward. "Despite all the mysteries that surround magic, we do know one fact about it. The universe we live in is not unique." He outright laughed at the stunned expression on Harry's face. Still chuckling a few seconds later, he said, "Looks like you understood my meaning. Yes, this is not the _only_ universe in existence. There are countless universes and innumerable worlds in the vast space known as the multiverse. You should have seen the Atlanteans or the Indians when they figured it out. Boy, did they piss their trousers." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm getting off track. Like I said, there are many universes out there, _but_ all of them, every last one, originates from a single point or are governed by a single centre. It's a bit confusing to understand without certain conditions in place."

"Now, the point of origin or control or existence or destruction of all these universes has several names. Some call it the _Void_ , some use the word _Heaven_ and most magus of our world call it the _Root._ The destination of the lowliest of peasants to the greatest of kings. The path on which all beings must walk; the unreachable destination, the road without end."

Harry tried to take it all in, as Not-James went on dumping information than he could take in.

"It the archive of all probabilities of every known permutation of every possible future of every universe. It exists beyond everything known and unknown principle, beyond the scope of laws known and unknown. It is the source of magical energies and phenomena that occur across all universes. The beginning of all Origins; the ultimate form of Transcendence that the mages of old once aspired for." Not-James paused for a moment, allowing Harry to grasp what little he did understand. "Once a magical - through decades, sometimes centuries, of research and dedication- reaches the edge of the Root, he is able to discover for himself a new _true magic_ for himself. The other magus have either studied the principles and application of magic under the holders of True Magic, or have pursued research through other avenues or performed Grand Rituals to entire an entire Thaumaturgical system, all of which are known under a single term, _Magecraft_. The fields of magic you have studied – Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Alchemy and Wards – are all classified as _Magecraft_."

"Magecraft." Harry repeated, wondering how, for Merlin's sake, was this not taught at Hogwarts? This sounded and felt really important. Teachers were obligated to give students all the necessary information to understand magic, were they not?

Not-James nodded. "The Peverell line has possessed a close link to Magic, a factor that is either a blessing or a curse depending on the point of view. The name _Peverell_ originates from a now forgotten tongue. It literally translates to ' _loved by the Gods_ '. Our bloodline has discovered m0re _True Magics_ than anyone else can ever hope to achieve."

"We… did?" Harry felt that he may as well continue to berate himself for the rest of eternity.

Not-James smiled. "The first Peverell died before he could use what he had discovered. The second Peverell's demise came about through the very magic he discovered. The third," He paused, "rejected what he had discovered."

"Wait… what?" Harry interrupted. "What does that even mean?"

A sly grin crossed Not-James's features. "You will find out soon enough. Besides, you need to learn something you should have known years ago. You are far more important to the world than you could possibly ever realise."

"Is that because of the _prophecy?"_ Harry questioned, still feeling quite bitter over the revelation.

Not-James chortled. "The Prophecy exists because of you, Harry. You do not exist for the Prophecy."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his cryptic statement. "Why are you so intent on me fulfilling the prophecy?"

Not-James narrowed his eyes. "Tell me Harry, why exactly are you so intent on dying?"

Harry grumbled under his breath. "Is being with my family not reason enough?"

"And is that your only reason?"

"Yes." Harry argued.

Not-James frowned. "Continue to lie to yourself if you so wish. Right now, you need to catch that." A finger pointed towards the fireplace.

Harry turned to find the purple, almost blackish symbol, drifted towards the fireplace which burned a bright green for an instant and the symbol disappeared. _A Floo._

He did not look back, knowing the facsimile of his father would have already disappeared. He contemplated not going after the symbol for once. He was sitting in the heart of the common room in Hogwarts, the place he considered ho-

" _You chose to believe Hogwarts was your home when all you ever considered it was a refuge."_

Harry snarled. Even his mind was playing against him. He did not want people to continue gloating to him about his failures. He had done enough. Nobody was ever going to die because of h-

" _I am not going to blame you because you believe you can finally start hurting the way you should be, Harry Potter."_

 _Argh!_ _Damn it!_ Was death worse than living? Why did he always have to be the one to do everything? He did not want to be a hero who saved people. He just wanted to be himself.

He sighed in defeat. Apparently, that was far too big a wish for the universe to grant, especially considering the revelations _Magic_ had received regarding his family.

Knowing that he would, sooner or later, be forced to do it, Harry stood up. Dusting off his trousers in an effort to give regain some composure, he stared at the flames with an expression of anger and fear before jumping into the fireplace.

Another instant later, the flames cast a soft orange glow on the now empty common room.

* * *

The entire house was in ruins. There were stairs against the wall through the foyer to his left, ascending upwards in a straight, steep line, the wood railing quite plain and missing several pieces with rickety boards over the steps. The walls of the room were partially caved in with several patches of paint either stripped off or peeling away in pieces. There were traces of what looked like a small kitchen to the left. There were deformed pieces of furniture lying around the floor of the room and several pieces of shrapnel embedded in the walls and smashed shelves filled with broken or shredded decorations were collapsed on each other. Most of the floor appeared to have been hit with a high powered blasting curse with pieces of clay, wood and stone littered around. Put together, the entire room painted a rather graphic picture of a battle hard fought.

While Harry was sure he had never really been here before, his mind argued otherwise. There was a queer feeling to the place; he could not quite place a finger on it.

The main door from across the fireplace was smashed inwards, the pieces of the door no longer visible among the rubble on the floor. The one thing Harry was quite sure about was that whatever had occurred here were events that should not have occurred.

Harry felt his body lurch forward as his mind finally supplied the answer. _No! It could possibly not be_ that _cruel!_

He felt his throat constrict as he ran up the rickety stairs, the wood groaning under the pressure. Old half-remembered memories were guiding his feet and he knew where he needed to go yet was afraid of what he knew he would find there.

 _The one just before that pink wall._

He stood in front of the pristine white door, the only thing without any visible damage in the house he stood in. Taking deep breaths, he grabbed the knob with a shaking, sweating hand and twisted it. Opening the door with the air of someone going towards his execution, his heart stopped at the sight of something he had simultaneously hoped and dreaded to lay eyes on.

The entire room was brightly lit with several candles affixed to small holders on the walls. Stringers ad balloons were tied to the walls in a manner that reminded Harry of Dudley's birthdays. And sitting on the rocking chair, a book on her lap, was the one person Harry could always, _always_ recognise, the only good that had come about as a result of his encounters with the dementors.

"My baby…" Not-Lily cooed at him. Motioning to the tiny bed beside the chair, she said, "Take a seat, Harry."

Harry was done with it, with everything that was happening to him. He was supposed to dead, not visiting a psychologist. He did the only thing he could and lashed out with his words. "is this your twisted version of a joke?" He took heavy, measured steps towards the thing that dared to imitate his mother. "Giving me glimpses of my dream and yet locking me in this prison? Is this my punishment?"

Not-Lily got up, book thrown to the floor, and palmed Harry's cheek, stopping the boy in his tracks. "Tell me, Harry. Would your parents really want you to die like this? Think about it, Harry. Your parents chose to embrace death in hope that you might live. Sirius gave his life so that you could live Harry."

"And you went and threw their sacrifice away! What did you expect them to tell you when you met them? ' _You've been so brave, Harry. We are so proud of you._ '?"

The words hit Harry with the force of a hundred bludgers. He would have collapsed on his feet if not for Not-Lily holding him up with a hand around his waist. Leading over to the bed, she, slowly, lowered him to a sitting position and occupied the chair beside.

She smiled at him. "You are just fifteen, Harry, decades away from even the prime of your life. You need to live and love. Are their sacrifices really so worthless that you intend to end your life, just to prove a point?"

Harry just sat, dumbfounded. A distant part of his mind registered that this facsimile was not referring to itself as his mother.

"Albus Dumbledore was at fault for your sufferings, if not more than Voldemort and so many others who you have yet to hear about. Relinquishing the gift given to you by your family is not the right thing to do, Harry. It does nothing to prove the point you tried to make. The end result you would achieve is them winning and the lives of friends are now at the mercy of Voldemort. Do you really believe you did the right thing?"

"If I am dead, then the prophecy is broken, isn't it?" Harry replied automatically, despite knowing the answer was not something he wanted to admit he knew. " _Either will die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._ If I died by my own hand, it means that the prophecy was wrong and everybody you destroyed the lives of me and mine were bastards who should be put to the death."

A minute of silence later, Harry heard Not-Lily do the strangest of things. She giggled. "Oh Harry, you are so innocent and… _naïve_." Her expression turned dark for an instant before morphing into a radiant smile. "Prophecies do not work the way _you_ believe they do. They are sign-posts, declaring the presence of a possible _confluence_ in the time-stream. Prophecies _want_ to come true, Harry. Despite all the actions you took to go against it, you have – and you already know this – not truly succeeded. Fate will ensure that the prophecy occurs, and that you shall follow your destiny. It is, after all, an instrument of the Root."

"I don't have a choice?" Harry questioned feebly. The experiences had taken a toll on him, and he was now growing weary of it all. "Then why do this? Why try to torture me when you can just send me back to that hellhole you call a world? It would save you the effort of trying to convince me."

Not-Lily frowned. "Of course not, Harry. You, unlike everyone else, have a choice. You… are the only person in this entire state of affairs who _gets a choice_. A choice of either relinquishing everything your parents stood for, or standing up and living the life they wanted you to live."

She paused for a moment. "This chance might never come again. You finally have a chance to set everything right, and that is exactly why we want to make sure that you consider everything before you decide."

"Why me?" Harry pleaded, "-and what's that ridiculous symbol that I've been following around all this time?"

Not-Lily smiled. "That, my dear Harry, is the symbol of the amalgamation of the three _True Magics_ that belong to the Peverell line, and it now belongs to you. She raised a finger in the air, and began drawing a golden line – it was akin to the _Pyrologos_ spell Harry had seen Tom Riddle perform in the Chamber of Secrets. "The first of your line, Antioch, discovered the True Magic of _Amplification_ \- Pure, autonomous amplification; an impossible phenomenon, according to most magus – and imbued into a wand. The Elder Wand." Her finger had finished drawing the symbol. "Triangle. A symbol of amplification."

Harry just listened.

"The second, Cadmus, discovered the _Face of Death_ \- an illusion so strong that it could force anyone to leave their mortal shell and join the eternal rest - and imbued it into a stone. The Stone of Resurrection, I believe they call it." Not-Lily's lips twisted into a smirk, as Harry realised the obvious deception. The stone did not bring back the dead. Rather, it drew the living towards their death using an illusion. A shiver went down his spine at the thought, wondering how many had died trying to bring back their loved ones only to join them.

She drew a median to the golden triangle. "A line, the symbol of division, the gateway between the realm of the living and the land of the dead."

Her face finally lit up with a smile. "The third, Ignotus, discovered _Concealment_ , and imbued the magic into his cloak. The Cloak of Invisibility." She drew a circle inside the triangle, the line bisecting it in two. "A circle, the symbol of concealment, protection and defence."

Not-Lily turned to stare at Harry. "The first died before he could master his gift. The second died at the hands of his gift and the third rejected his. The seventh of their line was the only magical to ever be _born_ with a True Magic. He united the magics of the three brothers and, together with his gift, was known as the Master of the Deathly Hallows. The Master of Death."

"Deathly Hallows?" Harry repeated. "What magic did the seventh discover?"

Not-Lily smirked. "You shall find the answer to your question soon."

Harry sat there calmly. Time, it seemed, did not matter here, wherever _here_ was. His fingers reached up to touch his scar, and was surprised to find it was missing. The soul piece, as Cedric or the facsimile of him described, was now gone. His life was now truly his own, and Magic was offering him a choice which was more than anybody ever did.

"Tell me." Harry asked slowly, as Not-Lily beamed at him, "Even if I go back, there is still the extremely high chance that Voldemort is going to kill me, isn't he?"

Not-Lily smiled. "Death comes to everyone, Harry. Not even the Master of the Hallows can escape that fate. Besides, should such a situation come to pass, do you truly have anything to fear?"

Harry flinched back, understanding the true meaning behind the words.

Not-Lily smiled, seemingly understanding his unsaid resolution. "If you decide to go back, then you will be honouring your parents. You can truly live up to your full potential. You can continue the Peverell bloodline, and do some good in the world. You can ensure that no other innocent child ever becomes another _Boy-Who-Lived_."

Harry felt the words stab him with shards of ice

"Tell me Harry," Not-Lily pressed. "Why do you wish to choose life over death? Is it because you _truly_ want to be with your parents, or is it because you do not wish to return to a world that has treated you unfairly? Your parents died heroes, and so did Sirius. On the other hand, you inspired your friends to fight against the most feared Dark Lord in the history of Britain and gave up. Do you believe that your parents are proud of you? That your deeds have earned you a place beside them? Are you going to continue running away because a bunch of fossils have thrown a few obstacles in your path?"

Harry just sat dumbfounded, unable to answer the entity before him. In his haste to run away, to not feel any further pain, he had unwittingly let his friends and family down. Sirius had given up his life for Harry to live. His parents had sacrificed themselves to save him from Voldemort. His friends faced hardships beside them and followed him in a reckless attempt to fight against adults of greater skill.

With a clarity he lacked before, he wondered if his decision had already changed and he did not yet know. Shifting his gaze to stare into the eyes mirroring his own, he thought back on the elaborate game orchestrated for his sole participation. Was it an attempt at manipulating him to return to a place where he felt both misery and joy?

 _It did not matter._ He had to go back. He still had unfulfilled hopes and dreams that had yet to come true. He had friends he needed to save. There were people to protect, and things to do. He wanted to see the world with his friends and family beside him. He wanted to enjoy an ice cream at Florean's without worrying about a Dark Lord. Most of all, he wanted to make his parents and Sirius proud of him. Anything or anyone who stood in his path were going to be smashed to bits.

"If I am talking to Magic… then can I meet my parents and Sirius? Just for once?" Harry asked suddenly, knowing this might be the only chance he had for a long, long time.

Not-Lily had a solemn expression on her face. "There exists no _magic_ can return the dead to life, Harry. Those who choose to pass on, become part of the Root. They are no longer chained to the world of the living."

For the first time, Harry felt at peace. The fact that his parents had moved on and become a part of Magic was more comforting than he could express. He had seen his parents at the end of his fourth year and, no matter how little it was, he had a memory of them.

"They were not the spirits of your parents, my dear Harry," Not-Lily exclaimed. "They were projections of the very moment their lives ended, created by the very essence of the _True Magic_ you were born with."

"The power the Dark Lord knows not…" Harry said aloud, "Is that it?"

Lily gave him a sly grin. "If you decide to go back, you can ensure that fewer lives are destroyed, fewer families are torn apart, and in doing so, finding a family of your own. This is your chance to truly live your life."

Harry stood up.

The decision was made.

For the first time, Harry James Potter had something else to look forward to, besides the duplicity of the wizarding world and the threat of an insane monster. He now, had a purpose.

"Just answer one question for me." A smile graced his features. "Is this real? Or is it just happening inside my head?"

Lily smiled teasingly. "Of course, it is happening inside your head, Harry. But why on earth should it mean it is not real?"

Harry smirked at her reply, as he extended his right hand, innately knowing what would happen next. The glowing symbol of the Hallows, the symbol had been chasing for the past few hours, shot towards him as dazzlingly bright light inundated his world.

* * *

 **17** **th** **May 1996**

The first time Harry opened his eyes, he was blinded. Everything was too white. It felt quite jarring to his senses and he closed his eyes. He spent a few minutes feeling his body, checking for any injuries, slings or bandages before opening his eyes once again. His eyes adjusted to the light. A few seconds later, a familiar white ceiling appeared in his line of sight giving away his position in a bed on the infirmary. The soft, crisp sheets were a dead giveaway.

"Back to earth, I guess," Harry murmured, trying to move his hands, which ached. A lot.

For better or worse, his head seemed to be a lot less painful. The slight ache from his scar which had been his constant companion through his life or the traumatic pain of the past year were strangely absent. His fingers moved to his forehead, and just like he suspected, the scar had vanished completely with a very small mark he could feel over his skin.

His anger was strangely absent too. He closed his eyes, mind wandering to his personal experience in the… wherever it was. The entity that called itself Magic had informed him about the _True Magic_ he had been born with, effectively pointing out the _power the Dark Lord knows not_.

However, any explorations of his power would have to wait until immediate concerns were handled, the most pressing of which was the Headmaster himself. Before the prophecy, Harry had considered as the man as his honorary grandfather, the man who always knew what to do and held all the answers.

 _And now I will have to walk down a different path._

He briefly wondered how he should react to the old man should he see him again. Considering his luck, it would be anytime soo-

"Harry!"

 _Called it…_ Harry grimaced inwardly. Raising himself using his still aching elbows, he gazed at the open doors of the infirmary. Albus Dumbledore, still in flamboyant blue-green robes strode towards him. His facial expression flitted between indecision and a scowl, and ended with a something that was almost but not quite a frown. "Professor." He replied neutrally.

"I am glad to see that you are finally awake and in health." Dumbledore replied genially, standing beside the bed occupied by the teen. Seeing no change in the boy's expression, he continued, "Since the… incident, you were throwing out powerful bursts of magic. Professors McGonagall and Snape helped serve as conduits, channelling the excess energy into the Hogwarts' wards."

"I was… giving out bursts of energy?" Harry asked with wide eyes as he lay flat on the bed.

"Of considerable intensity, I am afraid." The Headmaster replied. "We were worried that you would burn and possibly damage your internal organs in the process."

Harry scowled. "You talk like you knew that I was going to survive the killing curse… sir."

The man's face grew solemn. "I admit I did."

"So you knew about the… _horcrux_ in me, didn't you?" Harry accused, inwardly feeling glad when shock flitted across the old man's face.

"I did," Dumbledore admitted with a sigh, not sure how Harry knew the answer and not willing to question the boy's sources. "It was a form of protection. When Voldemort used your blood to resurrect himself back to life, it strengthened the protection. A _horcrux_ vessel is always indestructible, and in the given situation, nothing short of a killing curse by Voldemort himself would have destroyed the horcrux. I admit I never anticipated you trying to end yourself like you did."

Harry's eyes narrowed, as Dumbledore continued, "However, if you wish to blame anyone for your ordeal, know that I was responsible for everything that has occurred."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "The horcrux is gone for good. I am not indestructible anymore, Headmaster. Another killing curse will kill me just like it would kill anyone else." He eyed the headmaster wand as the old man tensed up. "But you do not need to worry. I have my own purpose in life now, a goal beyond that prophecy you seem to hold so dear to yourself."

"Oh." Dumbledore breathed, as elation shot through him. "Harry, there are matters that I _absolutely_ need to tell you, before-"

"Before I get killed, or worse, kick myself off the bucket?" Harry pointed out sarcastically.

Albus shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Harry. During our last… discussion, I mentioned that you were hardly as angry at me as I had expected you to be. I know that you might decide never to trust me… ever again, but there are things you _need to know."_

Harry frowned. "What are these important matters that I must know?"

Dumbledore looked away. "I think it will be better, if you just rested tonight. Tomorrow, you will have all the answers you want, _and more_. I am quite sure that… when it is done, you might well decide to kill me. I assure you, I shall not stop you."

Harry scowled, making the old man chuckle.

"Do not be like that, Harry. You have woken up after twenty hours in a magical coma. You need your rest. If I might be so bold, you should stay here instead of returning to Gryffindor Tower tonight."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but did not argue.

"It is close to sunset, Harry. Besides, your body is currently adjusting to all the new changes in yourself, one of them being your newly fixed eyesight."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. The old man was right, however irritating that was. His mind was clearer, and he could _feel_ it working much better than ever before. All his life, his mind had been fighting the Horcrux trying to possess him _and_ keeping him alive. Now with the additional baggage off its shoulders, it seemed his mind could finally focus on the tasks it was initially meant to do.

"Good night, Harry." Albus Dumbledore replied, walking out the twin doors.

* * *

 _Flames!_

 _He was surrounded by a sea of flames. He could see demolished buildings, roads with chunks of soil missing, logs of scarred wood and marble littering the paths and craters. Beside the smashed houses lay the remains of whatever remained of the inhabitants. Corpses, mutilated, burnt and hacked by recognition lay inside the houses, hung on the windows and were present both over and under the rubble. Corpses of all ages and sexes were visible as far as he could see with a distant sound of terror surrounding the ruins._

 _The entire village burned in a sea of red, yellow and orange and the cries of the people echoed into the night. In the midst of the destruction, stood a little boy, blood dripping off from his temples and sides while he slowly treaded his way through the corpses and around the rubble. As he walked with an unsteady gait, the young boy watched as the flames flowed through the buildings and tendrils of smoke reached high into the shy in an effort to escape the blazing inferno below and choke the light of the starry sky._

" _You think he knows that he is literally walking into Hell?"_

 _The sudden voice took Harry off-guard as he spun around. The deep, cool and cultured voice belonged to a man who stood behind him, wearing robes and battle-armour the likes of which he had never witnessed before. The armour seemed to be a part of the man's body with a large grey cloak covering his back and arms and fluttering in the wind._

 _Harry found the cloak had captured his attention for a few minutes, for reasons unknown to him. Breaking his gaze from the cloth, he looked up and glanced into steel grey eyes._

" _Who are you?" Harry croaked._

 _It seemed that the man had either not heard him or, Harry scowled, decided to ignore the question entirely. "This used to be a mundane village. That thing you see…" He pointed towards the large burning building to the north of their position. "-used to be a church. The Elders decreed that it must be built in the centre of the village so everyone could be equally close to God. I like that…" An inhuman smirk flashed in his face, "the geometry of belief."_

" _Who are you?" Harry repeated._

" _Alduin Maximus Peverell," The man intoned offhandedly, "And you are someone unimportant."_

 _Harry glared at the man and realized that Alduin was pointedly ignoring him. "What happened here?"_

" _An outcome of their efforts." Alduin answered. "Everyone creates the thing they dread. Men of peace create engines of war. Invaders create avengers. People create…" He chuckled, "Everyone creates something to supplant them… to help them… end."_

" _So who did this?"_

" _They say that I did it."_

" _Did you?" asked Harry, wondering if the man was as insane as Bellatrix_

 _Alduin glared at him. "No. It was the berserkers… Who else are capable of such monstrosity?" A maniac laugh tore through his lips._

Another name that I now know without knowing what it means. _Harry thought sardonically._

" _But how am-" His words stopped midway in his throat as impenetrable darkness engulfed him._

* * *

Harry woke up with a start. Panting hard, he shifted slightly and relaxed upon feeling the sheets below him. They were completely drenched, and his entire body felt sticky with sweat. It almost felt like the dream had well and truly happened

 _What the hell was that?_

He sat up on the wand, trying to get his breathing under control. Once he had regained his composure, he took a few moments to think about the dream his mind had conjured.

He had never seen the village before and he had certainly never seen the scene of destruction either. However, it was far too vivid for him to dismiss as a mere dream. He rarely remembered his dreams or nightmares with such clarity. In many ways, it felt like the when… when he was in Voldemort's mind, looking at his memories.

Eyes narrowed in thought, Harry thought about the man he had met in the dream. _He said his name was Alduin Maximus Pev-_ His heart lurched with a sudden fright. _ALDUIN!_ It was the name of his ancestor who was the first and only Master of Death. According to what Magic had told him, Harry was supposed to possess the same power he did.

But how could he see Alduin's memories? There was no other soul in him right? Or was he some kind of reborn soul?

 _Argh!_ Looking at the dark state of the infirmary, Harry knew it was far too early to be entertaining such thought. Shoving all his worries and theories to the back of his mind, he searched for his wand to help clear the moisture from his clothes and bed.

There was a single candle glowing at a distance, and even in the dim light, devoid of his glasses, Harry turned to find his school robes, pressed and packed with his wand on the pile, placed on a small table beside his bed. Pushing himself up slowly, he took a second to regain his equilibrium. Once he was sure he would not fall upon taking a step, he stood up and walked towards the table, his body aching at every single movement. It was nothing he could not bear. Ten years at the Dursleys along with his near-death experiences at Hogwarts had boosted his pain-tolerance to extreme levels. Reaching his destination, he held the edge of the table for support, as his fingers circled around the handle of his wand.

What happened next was not something he expected.

Instead of the warm, familiar vibe that had always accompanied the feel of the wand, there came an indifferent coldness that felt oddly repulsive. It felt as though the wand hated to be in contact with him. Disgusted by the odd sensation, he dropped the wand down on his robes and the feeling immediately dissipated.

 _Strange._

* * *

 **18** **th** **May 1996**

The next morning, Harry found himself standing in front of the oak door that served as the entrance to the Headmaster's office. His hand reached for the large crimson knob, his mind still lost in the past.

It felt like a different life, when he had entered this office once before, praying that the Headmaster would believe that he was not the Heir of Slytherin, and was being wrongly blamed as the perpetrator.

"Come in, Harry."

Harry could not help the smile. The man _always_ knew who stood at his door. _Must be something like the magic in the map._ He pondered. The clarity of his thoughts and the speed at which his mind was now taking in information was exhilarating and, if he admitted it, a bit frightening to him.

He stepped into the circular office and pass a glance over the refurbished furniture, quite pleased to see Fawkes on his perch, the phoenix in question trilling at him. He smiled. "Nice to see you too, Fawkes."

"I hope you had a good rest, Harry." Dumbledore replied genially from the same armchair he was last seated in.

Harry was glad to see the smile wiped away at his frown.

"My wand is not working for me anymore." He decided the blunt approach would serve him better. "It feels strangely… repulsive to me." He pulled the wand out from his robes and placed it on the tea table, taking note that the table, along with every other artefact and piece of furniture in the room was fully repaired from his… outburst.

Dumbledore hummed, his chin resting on his fingers. "The only thing I can hypothesize is that the wand does not suit you anymore."

"But it chose me-"

The Headmaster stopped the boy with a hand gesture. "Do not misunderstand me, Harry. As I have stated before, you and Lord Voldemort have been related in ways beyond what even I can ascertain. You carried a piece of his soul, or should I say… a _horcrux_ , though I'm uncertain how you know the name, considering it is a highly secretive piece of knowledge known only to those who dabble in the highest of the Dark Arts or Soul Magic."

Harry did not answer as he knew the technique the man was currently using to fish for answers. Using a vague statement to get the other person to reveal their hand was an old trick the headmaster relied on heavily.

Feeling that he would not get an answer, Dumbledore continued. "If you remember, I have shared the story behind the core your wand uses. Fawkes had only ever given two feathers to Ollivander. One of them rests within your wand, and the other is part of the wand that Voldemort has used since he first walked through the gates of this school. In the beginning, I had theorised that the wand chose you because you were his equal, as stated in the prophecy, but it seems that I have… erred once again."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"The feather did not choose you, but the piece of Lord Voldemort that lay within you, protected and nourished by your magic. Since the horcrux has been destroyed and now you are entirely your own person, it does explain why your wand has rejected you. You are no longer the person it bonded with."

" _Great!_ " Harry murmured sardonically. "Even my wand hates me." Looking at the headmaster, he asked, "Does that mean I will have to go to Ollivander to get myself a new wand?"

Dumbledore made an odd noise in his throat, before opening his mouth and closing it. "Tell me, Harry. Do you remember… holding this wand…?" he softly placed the Elder Wand beside the Holly and pushed it toward Harry. "You used it to cast the killing curse at yourself, two days ago."

There was no audible response, as Harry glanced at the wand in question. It was, perhaps, the oddest wand he had ever set his eyes upon. The wood was thicker at the base and grew thinner until the tip with white lines crisscrossing the oddly grey surface and small beads were placed along the handle at even intervals. The handle seemed to be made of bone, a grey darker than the rest of the wand. It was true that using the Headmaster's wand had felt far more… natural than using his Holly wand ever did.

"What is this wand? It feels… _familiar_ ," Harry muttered, "and yet… so different." His fingers entwined around the handle of the wand and, almost in acknowledgement, the wand gave out sparks of bright golden light as a feeling of reunion and joy sang in his blood

"That settles the matter of your wand." Dumbledore replied, his lips widening in a joyous smile. "Tell me Harry… Do you happen to know anything about the _tales of Beadle the Bard_ , or specifically, about the _Deathly Hallows_?"

Harry breathed in sharply, and cursed himself for giving himself away.

"So…" Dumbledore observed, "You know."

"And what if I do?" Harry glared at the aged wizard in defiance.

"Well, for one," Dumbledore shifted a little on his seat, "it does make explaining things a little easier." He rested his chin upon his fingers once again. "That wand which you seem to wield so… exceptionally was created by Antioch Peverell, your ancestor."

Harry widened his eyes in surprise. "This is… this is the _Elder Wand?"_

Dumbledore observed him keenly. "What _exactly_ do you know about the Hallows and your family history, Harry?" At the boy's obvious discomfort at the line of conversation, he backpedalled. "I mean to say, I cannot explain properly unless I know the extent of _your_ knowledge on the matter."

"And how am I supposed to know that this is not another of your manipulations, Headmaster?" Harry spoke dispassionately, a hint of anger escaping at the last word.

Dumbledore sighed. "I, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, hereby swear that anything and everything that I share with Harry James Potter from henceforth is completely true to the best of my knowledge." He could see the surprise in the boy's eyes as he continued, "Furthermore, I also swear that my sole intention is, and always has been, to ensure the wellbeing and life of Harry James Potter. As have I sworn, so mote it be."

A light blue aura radiated out of the old man, as the magical vow took effect.

Years later, Harry would realize how powerful Dumbledore truly was to bind a magical oath wandlessly.

"That wasn't necessary…" Harry replied, a little shocked by his behaviour. The headmaster's actions had thrown him off. "However, I do appreciate the gesture."

"It seemed to cause the least delays." The Headmaster commented. "Now, if you could please tell me… what do you know about the Peverell family and the Hallows?"

Harry considered it. He had gained pieces of what was potentially important information, but here was a chance to actually get the full details of the knowledge he had acquired from his… afterlife.

"I know that the Potters are descendants of the Peverell line. Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus were… the three Peverells who discovered some form of… _True Magic,_ I think - I don't understand the word yet. I know what the Hallows are, and the magic inside each, and that…" He paused, hesitating at his answer. "That they belong… to _me_."

Dumbledore stayed quiet for a moment. Finally, he looked at Harry and smiled softly. "You are correct, Harry. While I admit that I find your knowledge of such classified information to be rather curious, the knowledge of your source or sources is beyond the scope of this discussion. The secret is yours to share with whom you wish."

"You aren't going to prod me with questions?" Harry almost yelled in disbelief.

Dumbledore smiled. "I might be many things, Harry, but right now, I am racing against the most formidable opponent of all."

"Who?" Harry asked on reflex.

"Time." Dumbledore replied simply. "And hence, all such curiosities are unimportant at the moment."

Harry chose not to comment on the man's cryptic statement.

"Do you know the specialty of that… adorable invisibility cloak of yours?"

 _Damn! I knew it. I knew it!_ Harry almost gasped. "Do you mean to say that-?"

"That cloak is more than a simple heirloom." Dumbledore answered, "If I may say so, such a cloak has not existed before, and will probably not exist again. That cloak, Harry, was created by Ignotus Peverell, your ancestor, and imbued with the _True Magic_ of _Concealment_ , passed down from father to son, until it reached his last descendant who, like Ignotus, was born in the village of Godric's Hollow."

"Me." Harry replied, feeling quite detached from reality for at the moment. Everything seemed so surreal. It was like the battle at the Ministry was nothing more a simple schoolyard scuffle. "Do you know where the stone-?"

"Fortunately or not, I do not have any idea about the present location of the stone. While the Peverell artefacts have been tracked extensively by certain _Higher Powers_ , the stone disappeared from history around the fourteenth century."

"So it's lost." Harry replied, almost sullenly. The pain of loss was quite high, considering he gained knowledge of the stone a day ago.

"I'm afraid so." Dumbledore answered, "I had access to one of the Hallows, one of which I won by conquest from the Dark Lord Grindelwald, when I defeated him in 1945. I borrowed the cloak from your father out of vain curiosity to study the ancient artefact. However, despite my disappointment, it seems that the Hallows only allow a fraction of their abilities to be used by their bearer."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, curious about it himself. _Were the items no longer capable of unleashing their full power?_

"The magic of Amplification; pure, unadulterated, autonomous amplification. A magic that has always been beyond our reach. Magus have researched extensively on the subject for centuries, trying to develop wands that can _amplify_ our magic when cast through it."

"And?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It was in vain. Despite all our efforts, it seems that _Amplification_ is something that has always managed to evade our grasp. Of course, certain magical cores like phoenix feathers and dragon heartstrings manage to _intensify_ our spells, but not amplify them, certainly not without extensive reliance on the user's own reserves."

"What's the difference?" Harry asked genially. He wondered if the _incident_ had not occurred, would his past self would be sitting in his position and having a discussion with the wizened wizard seated on the other side of the table.

Dumbledore tilted his head subconsciously. "When you wish to cast a spell, you create the structure of the spell, pour your magical energy through it and add the effect you wish to induce. As the spell travels through the wand, the ambient energies of the combined wood and core serve to intensify the spell, creating a more potent and effective version than if you tried to cast it wandlessly."

The Headmaster paused for a moment. "Though I must say, once you have developed a… _sense memory_ of a particular spell, you can even cast it wandlessly, although the intensity of the spell might not match one cast through a wand."

"Is that why wandless casting is so… _difficult_?" Harry asked. He had never even known that spells had structures or that his body itself could act as foci.

"Wandless casting is not a matter of difficulty, Harry, but a matter of experience. _Familiarity is the cornerstone of mastery_. The more you cast a spell, the greater your sense memory of said spell. It grants your mind and magic an innate understanding of the spell, allowing which grants your body the ability to structure a temporary conceptual foci allowing you to cast the spell."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"What makes the _Elder Wand_ so different, so prized is that not only does it _intensify_ your spell, but amplifies it to a level beyond what any individual caster is capable of. A normal blasting spell might crack a wall in the school, but the same curse amplified through this… _wand_ would perhaps break through the wall and anything that is present beyond it by using nothing more than the bare minimum necessary to cast the spell."

Harry's eyes were as round as saucers, unable to believe that such a weapon could even exist. He could not fathom why Dumbledore would even hand over such a powerful artefact to a teenager. Then, his now-better-working brain supplied a question.

"You said that you were disappointed." Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It is good to see that you are paying attention, my boy. Despite what the powers offered by the wand to its bearer, it simultaneously _resists_ him."

"How can you use a wand that resists you?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "How did it feel when you held the phoenix wand?"

A scowl formed on Harry's face. "It was repulsive, almost as if the wand… didn't was disgusted with my touch." He refrained from telling of the sudden urge to snap the wand. While he had quickly dropped the wand, in those few moments when the disgusted feeling threatened to overwhelm him, he knew he had nearly come close to snapping it in two. It was only the fact that it was _his_ wand that had stayed his hand. Now that he thought about it, he wondered why none of them, not one, had ever tried to snap it.

A mind put forth the theory of the wand being indestructible, but Harry immediately discarded it, surmising that the power granted by the wand must have overcome their natural urge to go through with the deed.

Dumbledore smiled. "Now you understand the feeling that every bearer of that wand," He pointed at the legendary wand in Harry's hand. "Including myself, has felt for as long as they held the reins of the wand." He paused to take a sip of water from the ever-filling glass on the table. "A feeling of _rejection,_ of inferiority that the bearer feels for as long as they hold the artefact of dread power. The bearer _knows_ the wand is _condescending_ to grant a fraction of the power and the fact that they do not deserve it."

The old wizard paused again, giving the boy time to grasp the information he had dumped on him. "Hundreds before me, every wizard who has ever held the wand, have been _belittled_ by the wand you now hold. Mocked by a tool that did not fail to provide extraordinary power yet one that did not fail to remind the bearer of the insignificance they possessed."

"There is a reason why most of the bearers either died in horrible manners or were _disabled_ for the rest of their lives. They come to depend on the wand, coveting its power and allure, not unlike Gollum in The Lord of the Rings books. Do not look so surprised, Harry. I do quite enjoy Tolkien, Jane Eyre and other muggle authors. What I mean to say is, the wizards or witches, belittled by the very tool they held, are driven to prove themselves worthy of their prize and set out on the path to destruction. It is one of the reasons why the Elder Wand is the most visible of the three hallows as it has always, always left a bloody trail through the annals of history. Thousands have died at the tip of that dreaded and coveted artefact of power."

Harry sat in quiet contemplation, staring at the wand at the crux of the Headmaster's story. "If what you say is true, then why does it, you know?"

Dumbledore smirked mischievously. "Can you not deduce that yourself?"

"My blood." Harry realised at the old man's smirk. "Peverell blood. This wand was, is and will always belong to a Peverell."

"Truer words than you know, my boy." Dumbledore declared. "I am one hundred percent certain that the wand hides more secrets than anyone before myself nor I have ever unravelled. So, does the cloak, and the stone too, I suspect. True Magic has always been the gift of the mage who has achieved such. We mortals cannot possess but a mere fraction of the knowledge granted to them. Only you, the last descendant of the Peverells may unlock the secrets hidden within them."

Harry slowly pulled the invisibility cloak from a pocket of his school robe. Staring at the cloak, he knew he had always surmised that nothing like the cloak existed elsewhere. It had been a childish wish when he first received it, a vain hope to possess something unique to himself.

As time passed by, he did think if his wish was not the truth. In all the teime he had spent at Diagon Alley or Hogwarts, he had never once seen anything like it before. He had asked other people, those with wizarding parents and parents who worked in the ministry, about artefacts. While he had hidden his query within pointless questions to deflect any attention, there was never once any hint or even a reference to a cloak like his.

He knew his cloak was old and in a condition no normal invisibility cloak should be in. It had always rendered him completely invisible to any and all forms of detection- His line of thought stopped as one instance of discovery occurred to him.

Looking at the headmaster, Harry said, "You once discovered us when we were under the cloak in Hagrid's hut during second year."

Dumbledore blinked before he chuckled. "Forgive me, Harry. I did not sense you at all. I merely noticed the scuff marks from the shoes you wore on Hagrid's ever murky floor and simply deduced your position."

"That said, it is time that we return to the main purpose of our meeting today. I know that I promised you answers to every question you have, and more. Time is of the essence, so I suggest you begin."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

* * *

 **Several hours later…**

A mentally exhausted Harry Potter sat on the chair, as the Headmaster stood against the window, peering down at the lush green grounds of the Hogwarts' grounds below. The sun was in the overhead position in the sky. "You now know the true scope of the powers that surround you, and machinations designed to keep you ignorant. It began from the moment you survived the killing curse right up until the point you killed yourself."

Turning towards the teenager, he asked, "I have given you all the answers I possibly could. Do you have any further questions, Harry?"

Harry said nothing, and certainly did not correct the Headmaster that he might have been manipulated in the afterlife or what passed for it. The start of the exhaustive and illuminating conversation had lit a burning rage in his heart. His rage seemed to fuel the wand in his wand as it showed him images of blazing infernos and drowning tides, promising sweet, sweet revenge if he but gave the order.

But this was not the Harry Potter of old. This Harry Potter did not have a horcrux constantly trying to possess him. This Harry Potter could use his now considerable mental clarity to understand what would happen should he choose the path of a berserker – the word seemed oddly fitting. The raging flames had turned into a mighty blizzard, his heart and mind whispering that revenge would be his in time.

"No, sir." He replied finally. "I have no more questions to ask. And I do not blame you."

"Do not forgive me, Harry. I do not deserve it. I do not want it. I do not need it." The man muttered audibly, in a voice filled with self-loathing, the likes of which Harry had never imagined before. "However, as you now know, despite the power of your bloodline and the might of the artefacts you now possess, Tom is beyond your abilities at this moment in time. He is vastly more experienced and has trained under some of the greatest magus to ever walk the earth. If you face him, you will die. Tom rarely makes the same mistake twice."

Harry flinched at the harsh words but conceded, reluctantly, that the Headmaster was right. The only reason he had survived for years was because Voldemo- Tom had chosen to underestimate him during every encounter. He did not think Harry could harm during the philosopher's stone incident, he did not believe Harry and a sword could triumph over the basilisk and he did not know about the brother wands or the portkey that would allow Harry to escape.

He blinked at his thoughts. Analysing the situations objectively, it was a miracle that he had not yet died. He only hoped his luck, and some training might help him survive ad kill the bastard. "I know." He replied in resignation.

"Do not be sad, Harry. He holds decades of experience over you and possesses arcane knowledge that would give me trouble in a fight. The two factors that can help put you on equal footing are the artefacts of your bloodline and reserves of power not unlike that of Tom."

 _A powerful wand to cast spells, and a cloak to hide when in trouble. And I have no idea how to invoke the other powers the objects are hiding._ Harry thought.

"There is one other factor that might help you." Dumbledore murmured, "An ability that only you seem to possess. It was last seen in the hands of your ancestor, and he was considered to be extremely formidable by even those in power."

Harry raised an eyebrow. His _not-mother_ had hinted that he was born with the same _True Magic_ that Alduin Peverell had once possessed. Could Dumbledore be talking about the same?

"I have observed you deeply, more than you will probably even fathom. I know how you learn and react to situations. I know why you excel at certain things but fail at others."

"You… do?" Harry asked, curious.

"I… do." Dumbledore confessed. "It is indeed something I have never seen before. Know that I might be wrong, Harry, for this conjecture and theory I have built over five years of observation. I believe that once you have _seen_ a spell being cast, you are able to _mimic_ the spell immediately. I surmise that this _mimic_ ability you possess is not a simple talent for you seem to master the spells quickly. I confess some of your spellcasting in charms, transfiguration and DADA reminds of my fellow colleagues who are masters of their fields. I believe you, through means still unknown to me, are able to absorb the sense memory of a spell and adjust your magical core and circuits to cast accordingly.

"I can… do that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"You can and, at the same time, you hold gargantuan reserves of power. It explains why your Patronus back was powerful enough to repel a hundred dementors. All modesty aside, even I could not do that in the prime of my life."

"Ah…." Harry deadpanned, unable to find the right words to respond to the compliment.

"It explains why you are so skilled in DADA, and Charms. Transfiguration, requires a deeper understanding of magical theory, which I can blame on your, forgive me, _unenthusiastic approach_ towards your magical education. As for Potions, since you cannot actually _see_ what is happening inside the bubbling cauldron, you are unable to understand and grasp the concept behind it."

Harry's cheeks had turned red. It was true that he had not been performing his best ever since his first few classes at Hogwarts. The _Boy-Who-Lived_ being good at defense was expected, and the spells were easy to perform, at least for him. Ron's lazy attitude and Hermione's overzealous nature did little to endear him to studying either.

Dumbledore continued his explanation. "This… ability of yours… is an entirely different kind of _magecraft_ , unconnected to witchcraft or wizardry, and, from what little I have discovered, is known as _Projection_. I am a rather accomplished scholar in the lost and arcane arts and yet I admit knowing little to none about this… magecraft that you seem to have been… born with. So let me be very clear with you, Harry Potter. _You will be noticed_ , noticed by the people who remember the last person to display such an ability was your ancestor, and they will not leave you to your own devices."

Harry was rooted on spot. Was this… mimicry… _Projection…_ the True Magic he was born with? No… Dumbledore said it was a kind of… magecraft and no matter what he thought of the old man, the oath was still in effect preventing the Headmaster from lying to him.

"So that brings us both to the primary issue at hand. When I gave you the knowledge about the true machinations of the world around you, I broke my oath I made to the _Council._ As a result of my actions, I am cursed with _Maledictus maledictionem._ A blood curse that will slowly degenerate my organs, turn my magic towards myself, and curse me with a slow, agonizing and painful death. _"_

Harry felt the wand slip through his fingers. His face blanched at the news and he finally understood why Dumbledore had given away the artefacts and all those secrets about the Peverell line and the world around him. "Why…. Then why did…?"

Dumbledore smiled and Harry thought the man had never looked happier. "Because… for the first time in life, I chose _what is right over what is easy_." Ignoring the shattered expression on Harry's face, he chuckled. "It feels good to know that, despite all my crimes against you and yours, you are still capable of sympathising with me. It only proves that I was right all along."

Harry started, "Surely there must be some way to-"

The old man waved his hand in a gesture. "I have no need of it. In fact, I am going to grow significantly weaker in days to come, reduced to a useless state of existence and a liability on the magical world. Hence, Harry Potter, I have a proposition for you."

"What… proposition?" Harry asked, still bewildered and stunned at the revelation.

"Your ability to _mimic,_ when trained in the right way, can become a force to be reckoned with. I can show you a way through which you can significantly, if not completely, reduce the difference between yourself and Lord Voldemort, exponentially increasing your chance of survival not only against the Dark Lord but also against the other forces that will come for you sooner or later." He paused, "All of that will be yours should be consent to perform a single task for me."

"What…. Is that?" Harry asked in a whisper.

"I need your help, Harry… to commit an act of _High Treason_. Your help is needed at the very end as you are the only person who needs cast the spell I need."

"What… spell?" Harry asked, a sense of dread growing at the words of the Headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled. _"_ Avada Kedavra."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello people, this is the story my fellow author and I have come up with. NO, we are NOT abandoning PEVERELLS. It shall be updated on a regular basis.**

 **No, we do not know when we shall begin on the other stories. I can tell you that it shall be after one of our current projects is complete.**

 **Now, as you all know, or will come to realise, we are using elements of the Nasuverse in our story. Quite a lot of them, in fact. The FIC is still a work in progress.**

 **On a small note, I can tell you that the term 'Magus' encompasses all magic users and any other terms used are specialised and will be exposition'ed in the upcoming chapters.**

 **Hope to see how many catch all the Easter eggs we use in the story. I know this chapter contains at least one.**

 **OUR ACTING ROSTER:**

 **Alduin Maximus Peverell: HUGH JACKMAN.**

 **Lily Potter – Jessica Chastain**

 **James Potter – Sebastian Stan**

 **Sirius Black – Ian Somerhalder**

 **Poppy Pomfrey – Diane Keaton**

 **Yes, I know where I picked the name for the characters. Please do not bother repeating.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Inspired by Kathryn518's Author's Notes from 'I'm Still Here' and 'What's a Little Death between friends'.**

* * *

 **Halloween, 1981.**

"Alastor, the Lestranges have attacked Caerfyrddin," Albus commanded, holding a golden shield against the destructive spells being thrown in his direction. "I will hold the line here. Vance and Doge are on their way. Go!"

The Master Auror acknowledged the order with a gruff sound, vanishing with a crack too silent for a hasty apparation through the wards of Hogsmeade.

Albus held the shimmering shield in place with his off hand and slashed his wand of power in a diagonal arc to deflect the next volley of spells. Immediately following the action, the wand was pointed towards the heavens as three phoenix patronuses were cast, pushing back the dementors that Alastor had previously kept at bay from attacking the villagers who had either escaped or were hunkered down in their homes.

As Albus continued to defend against the near ineffectual spells that the death eaters continued to throw at him, his mind continued to ponder the question that had not escaped since he first heard the news.

None of his sources, not even the recently acquired Severus, had provided any hints of the attacks that were taking place across the length and breadth of Wizarding Britain. He had furiously wracked his brain for clues, hints or any mention of a puzzle whose answer would have prepared him for the loss of precious blood being split by the defenders and attackers, or the civilians.

Ignoring the screeching of the dementors who were doing their very best to destroy the constructs of blue light that threatened to keep their quarry from them, Albus pointed his wand to his back and cast.

Three wizards who had appeared behind the Headmaster of Hogwarts with the intention of killing him could not react as dozens of spears rushed at them. The now dead bodies flew back but did not fall as they were supported by the very weapons that ended their brief lives.

Albus moved his wand with a speed one of his age should not possess and conjured a large marble slab to absorb the familiar green curses flying towards him.

The last four months were quiet; relatively, at least, when compared to the horrors of the previous years. Ever since the day the mysterious Azazel had fought Voldemort to a standstill and then forced the Dark Lord to retreat, the Death Eaters and their insane master had been strangely silent. The entire blood purist movement – Albus snorted at the word – had been taking quiet hits across the country as Aurors led by Alastor, James, Sirius, Frank, and Amelia were ransacking safe houses, capturing low-level enforcers and several suppliers who were the economic backbone of the Death Eater organization.

Cutting down three death eaters who had towards him with a series of cutting curses and a fire whip, Albus dodged the next volley and sent a wide area blasting curse to scatter the remaining death eaters.

"Kill the old man or I'll be feasting on your flesh." Fenrir Greyback shouted at the top of his lungs as he desperately tried to counter the older wizard.

Albus smiled in contempt. For all their power and streaks of viciousness, these… wizards were nothing more than children at the Arts. As he shielded a particularly nasty evisceration curse, he thought about the anonymous tips which led the aurors to the safe houses. Albus considerable attempts at locating the source of these tips had ended in abject failure. None of his contacts, not even Mundungus Fletcher who knew the seediest of the lot in Knockturn alley, had found even a hint of the characters or characters who were providing them with invaluable help.

And yet, the same source had remained mysteriously silent for the attacks that were currently taking place. Shielding against six Killing curses, Albus concluded that the informant must have either been deceiving them into letting their guard down or the informer must not have been a member of Voldemort's inner circle.

Albus frowned as Severus was a member of the circle and he too had not been able to provide more than a fifteen-minute advance warning. His frown turned into a scowl at the thought of Voldemort initiating such a large scale attack in haste without prior planning, or his former student might have hidden the plan from his followers until the last second to prevent the Order from getting a whiff of his plans.

No matter the theories, the Dark Lord had orchestrated multiple attacks against some of the most highly defended and secure locations in Britain. The Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Prewitt Mansion and Caerfyrddin, the rumored birthplace of Merlin.

The Auror contingents and the Hit Wizards along with the volunteer forces had responded to the cries for help as quickly as they possibly could, although their preparations were heavily hampered by a lack of communication between the forces. Albus had tried to ensure the three groups maintained a steady line of communication, but DMLE Director Barty Crouch had dismissed the idea and refused to work with 'wet behind the ear vigilantes who were out to sate their craze for battle.' Albus had sent instructions to the Order who had quickly scrambled to reinforce the defenders.

However, it seemed that the Dark Lord had committed the entirety of his forces, forces that Albus surmised were kept in reserve for truly opportune moments. The Ministry forces and the Order had been stretched to their limits in repelling the attacks, especially since Bagnold and Barty had recalled a majority of their forces to help protect the headquarters of the magical government of Britain, and it was not helping matters when four of the Order's best fighters were tied up in various affairs.

He had sent most of the Order to defend Diagon Alley, while some of the Hit Wizards had been dispatched to protect Caerfyrddin. The Prewitts were, Albus knew, strong enough to hold their own and their wards were quite powerful, not to mention Aberforth had been sent to reinforce their position.

Ignoring the growing sense of disquiet in him, Albus waved his wand as another three patronuses shot out of the tip, soaring towards the hordes of dementors that had taken down his previous charms and doing their best to kiss him. The abominations screeched in pain as the silvery phoenixes drove them away but not as far as they usually would have, and those… abominations were quick to return, despite the best attempt of his patronuses to drive them away.

"Halloween," Albus muttered in exasperation. The anchors of the realm of death upon the mortal plane are stronger than ever, empowering the dementors. He took a deep breath and decided on a fresh course of action. "Very well. If you refuse to be cowed, you shall be erased." The tip of the Elder Wand glowed a bright red at the words leaving his lips.

 _Ignis Infernus._

Albus put every inch of his incredible focus into the incantation and pointed his wand towards the cloaked abominations. The wand tip for glowed bright enough to blind everyone in the village of Hogsmeade as the patronuses faded and flames the color of blood spewed forth to form a protective barrier around the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Ancient instincts cause the dementors to begin retreating from the bright flames with screeches of pain that forming a protective barrier of sorts, as their screeches caused the awestruck death eaters to shudder in fear and pain.

With a smirk, Albus flicked his wand in a counter-clockwise spiral. Instantly, the hellfire condensed into a hundred solid spikes of blood red flames, all of them aimed at the dementors with one goal in mind.

"I believe it is time for you to leave this world." He murmured to himself and flicked his wand, causing the entire army of spikes to rush forward at speeds exceeding the Comet Two-Sixty.

Unfortunately for them, the dementors could not outrun the magic and they were impaled. Their following screeches made Albus thank the stars for remembering to use a sound muffling charm on himself. Upon impaling their targets, the spikes exploded leaving behind tattered cloaks and silence and a display of fireworks in the dark of night.

Dumbledore let out a deep sigh and removed the muffling charm on his ears. Turning to the remaining death eaters, he asked, "Would you like to join them on the next great adventure?"

"Tear him to pieces!" Greyback growled in fury. Behind him stood a pack of over a hundred werewolves fully changed into their bestial forms and howling alongside their now transformed Alpha.

"A morphed werewolf in absence of the full moon?" Dumbledore wondered. It seemed like Voldemort had pulled in all the stops for tonight, but why? Fighting the Dark Lord over the years had given him enough information to know the full breadth of his forces, and considering the situation right now, it looked like Voldemort had placed every single one of his cards on the table. But why tonight of all nights?

The obvious reason would be that it was Halloween and the powers of the Dark were much more potent with the Chaos dimension favoring them exponentially more than any other night, and it seemed like Voldemort had decided t0 put his entire power behind a single overnight strike in order to achieve a decisive victory. However, Albus had a feeling that there was more to it but was unable to place a finger on what it w-

A very familiar feeling, one he had not felt since the war with Grindelwald, ripped across his mind, causing his eyes to widen at the realization of what had just occurred.

 _No- It can't be- James and Lily-_

The Fidelius around the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow had just fallen. That meant-

Albus whipped his wand to form a bubble shield around himself and cast a Patronus. "Go to Hagrid. Tell him to leave for Godric's Hollow right now!"

The Phoenix nodded in response and flew away to deliver its message.

Time to end this. Whipping his wand around, Albus Dumbledore called on the arcane powers of Runecasting, manifesting bright orange runes of protection in a large circle around the werewolves, startling them. The runes glowed brighter as threads of energy drew paths between the symbols of power and finally coalesced into a large dome of protection.

Greyback and several of the werewolves had lunged forward only to be trapped within the fully formed shield that they were now lashing against to no avail.

The Elder Wand had begun singing for the destruction to follow as the headmaster waved the legendary artifact in increasingly complex patterns. And then, for the first time in decades, Albus Dumbledore actually uttered the name of a spell.

" _Hastam Mortem Infernus."_

The moment the incantation was complete, spears of bright blue energy had appeared at the center of each runic circle part of the dome which had trapped the werewolves in a powerful magical prison. Burning with heatless blue flames, the tips of the spears were focused inwards, the vile prisoners staring at their doom in rage and horror.

A look of weariness and anger flashed across the old man's face as he flicked his wand towards the ground, bringing the wrath of hell onto the abominations.

The spears began launching volleys of arrows of blue flames, impaling the werewolves and burning their flesh to cinders as the shield of protection trapped its inhabitants in a sea of flames.

Albus spun his wand in a clockwise spiral with a diagonal arc and apparated away instantly, ignoring the explosion of the destabilized runic shields and spears that tore the werewolves into chunks of blood and meat.

* * *

Godric's Hollow was a village in the West Country of England. It was a small community primarily occupied by witches and wizards, centered around a church surrounded by many cottages, a post office, a pub and a couple of shops.

The Potter Cottage was a quaint little residence in the western part of Godric's Hollow. A two-storeyed house with a small garden and a fireplace with a chimney, it was bought by Fleamont Potter in 1978 and gifted to his son, James Potter, as a wedding present and the newlyweds had quickly made the cottage their home. After the death of his parents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, and the destruction of Potter Manor, James had strengthened the wards of Potter Cottage to war-footing and, a week ago, had the entire building placed under a Fidelius by Lily with Sirius as the secret keeper.

Now, on the night of Halloween, Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the partially demolished sight of the cottage. Several holes, both large and small, dotted the walls lining the foyer and living room; the roof and walls of the nursery on the top floor appeared to have exploded outwards, planks of wood and concrete visible on the jagged edges of the roof and the exploded wall displayed signs of magical erosion.

His throat tightened in pain at the sight, wondering why Fate had to be so cruel to a family whose lives were so brief. Stamping down the grief that threatened to overwhelm him, he refocused on the situation on hand. There was time to wallow later.

Albus shifted his gaze towards the gate leading to the now ruined cottage where Hagrid stood, with a small red bundle in his arms.

Wait! The baby!? Was Harry Potter alive?

His eyes widened in shock, and his gait faltered. Could it be-?

"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid all but bellowed, walking up to him with the last of the Potters in his arms. "James and Lily a-are gg-gone, sir." Tears were streaming from the half-giant's eyes and drenching his brown beard.

Albus had already tuned out Hagrid's ramblings, his mind racing with theories, plans and moves to make in the near future. He held his palm in a stop gesture to halt the stuttering, grief-ridden words of the half-giant before him and apparated with a near soundless crack.

* * *

Appearing in the middle of the living room, the first sensation that Albus was the air around him saturated with powerful magic. An instant later, he recognized the familiar metamorphic signature that identified transfiguration magic and the foul signature of the Dark Arts. He immediately scowled at the stench but the expression was immediately wiped away by the sight before his eyes.

Near the fireplace, and nailed to the wall with the broken head of a transfigured bear through his chest was James Potter. Everything below the elbow of his left arm was missing with the bone sticking out of the sinew and muscle as blood the color of black slowly dripped to the floor. The left arm was undergoing a slower necrosis that appeared to be from a slow-acting withering curse with the decayed fingernails on the floor. The left leg was skewered with a partially transfigured chair, the femur sticking out of the thigh and the right leg appeared to have been forcibly shoved through itself, bone and muscle twisted like a macabre art form. The jeans and shirt were shredded along with the skin and muscle underneath with several ribs sticking out of the chest.

Albus had looked down, fingers tightening around his wand and unable to gaze at the state of his former student any longer. He clenched his wand hard enough that he feared he might break the artifact, but his anger drowned everything else.

Before he could something foolish, he slammed down his occlumentic emotional dampeners. He could not afford to lose control now. Not when James was gone along with Li-

Blue eyes widened beneath glasses as the realization hit him and he quickly glanced around the thoroughly destroyed room. Finding the other body was not in the room, he apparated upstairs in front of the broken down door which led to the nursery situated after the bright pink wall - a result of one of Harry's moments of accidental magic - and the full force of the magic in the room overwhelmed his senses like a tidal wave. Slamming down his occlumentic shields and dampeners at full power, he entered the nursery.

Albus passed a quick glance over the entire room, cataloging the scene. An entire wall and part of the roof were no longer present and a bookcase that he had seen once before was embedded into the walls in several pieces. Burnt and broken toys lay on the floor with a small wooden dragon emitting a broken roar – He remembered that gift very well. James and Sirius had put their brains to work and created the dragon out of transfigured wood and enchanted it to perform all sorts of amusing tricks, including the ability to warn either James or Lily if their baby was hurt in its presence. He distinctly remembered Lily telling him about Harry never letting the toy out of his sight, a quirk that had both amused and irked the young mother.

Giving himself a firm mental shake, his gaze moved to the right and fixated themselves on the familiar tattered pieces of robes lying over the charred floor. Frowning at the thought, he tried to identify when he might have seen such cloth and a second later, his mind supplied the answer.

Albus felt his heart skip a beat, the Elder Wand humming with amusement at his thoughts. How… Voldemort was destroyed!? How is that possible? Was Lily still-

He turned to the left and his eyes immediately fell on the body of Lily Potter lying in front of the crib. Ignoring any thoughts about possible traps and curses, he moved forward two steps, crouched over the body, turned her over to take a better look at the red-haired woman. Finding green eyes bereft of life, he placed his wand over the body and muttered a few diagnostic spells.

The results caused his chin to his chest. The diagnostics indicated she died by the Killing Curse, and even Albus knew that there was nothing, nothing in the world that could save her.

Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, Albus stood up and moved back to the door. Facing the room, his eyes glowed a bright blue with a shade of silver lining his iris as he activated Magesight.

While there were dozens of documents on the ability and several grimoires and journals written by mages of the past, all of which Albus had studied in his quest to understand the ability, none of them had fully revealed the true extent of the powers available.

Many learned and wise magus had put forth theories that the documents contained but a sliver of the true nature of the ability. It was common knowledge that all arcane spells and terrifying abilities were rarely documented by those who once possessed or created them and even then the magus would rarely write in a plain, easily understood manner. All such writings were either sealed to ensure only those of a particular blood or magical line could understand them, written in such terms so as to provide the barest of glimpses or made of highly complex puzzles that forced the seeker to prove themselves worthy of the forbidden knowledge they sought.

Since the grimoires and journals had contained but a bare handful of information on the Sight he possessed, Albus had studied every hypotheses and scrap of conjecture that had been put forth. At first, they made him pause in thought, then irritate him and now made him chuckle in amusement. The learned and wise were right, but they so very were wrong at the same time.

It was true that the documents contained but a sliver, but it was not because the mages who possessed Magesight did not wish to share their secrets or because they wished to pass on the knowledge to those they considered worthy. The reason was rather simple: they could not put it into words. The ability, being so innate to their very being and yet completely alien to all they considered human that they could not find words in any language to truly express all it was. Thus, anyone who deigned to try and document their experience for future generations could write but a mere handful of pages.

Possessed by a handful of mages in all of history, Magesight was an extrasensory perception that allowed the user to perceive the flow and nature of magic within a certain radius. Unlike the rumors surrounding the ability, it did not display magic in the form of colors neither was it limited to the eyes alone. The ability conflated all five senses to form a high-level quasi-organic system that allowed the user to perceive magic upon the dimension it existed and its relation to the world as perceived by magus who does not possess the ability.

Magesight allowed a mage to perceive the myriad forms of magic through all five senses in a manner that would allow them to maintain their sanity of thought, and yet, the cacophony of sensations received threatened to overwhelm them. The user can touch, see, smell, hear and taste magic as it exists within their sphere of perception, although they perceive the knowledge in a manner wholly alien to their human senses. Thus, mages tend to describe the magic they perceive in words that the laymen would understand, words that barely described the true depth of perception provided by Magesight.

Drawing upon one of the powers conferred by the ability, Albus muttered, "Priori Incantatem." Unlike the usual form of the spell where it merely allowed the caster to reveal the previous spells cast by a wand, his ability allowed to watch the entire sequence of events that had occurred in an area. The drawbacks were that the people or events had to be magical and the area must be viewed within a few hours, sometimes minutes before the impressions of the events eroded.

This time, it seemed that he had arrived on time as the spell began to reveal the sequence of events that had occurred in the room. His eyes glowed even brighter contrasting the darkening shade of his silver irises.

He saw Voldemort cast the Killing curse towards Lily, the curse striking her and her soul leaving her body. Voldemort turned to face the crib and cast the Killing curse towards what he knew was Harry.

Then, the most astonishing thing happened. The Killing curse stopped in mid-air and disappeared with an unusual twist in space before what appeared to be a third Killing curse was cast from the crib and struck Voldemort causing him to explode in the same way that a wall struck by a blasting curse would.

Albus's eyes widened despite his emotional dampeners. Not noticing the lone drop of blood flowing from his nose, he immediately apparated outside the gate of the cottage. Ignoring the startled Hagrid, and with the most extreme of care – Lily would come back from the dead and kill him if he ever harmed her child – he caressed the infant's black hair and moved it aside. Deactivating his Magesight, he focused on the still-developing face of the orphaned child. There, on the right side of the infant's forehead, was a small non-bloodied scar in the shape of a rune. It was Sowilo, the rune of victory and the sun.

The child… the baby… had not only somehow stopped the unstoppable Killing curse but also… projected a Killing curse back at Voldemort? It was…

Albus felt the ground slip away beneath his feet. Tonight, the prophecy had come to pass, a child had been rendered an orphan and the Dark Lord had been vanquished.

Tonight, a magic thought lost had been brought back into the mortal world.

"Hagrid," Albus muttered, at last, ignoring Hagrid's ramblings about blood, nose, and infirmaries. "take baby Harry to Hogwarts. There are some errands I need to run before the night is done. This boy in your hand is the one who vanquished the Dark Lord. He lived, despite the death of his parents and the betrayal his family suffered at the hands of his godfather."

"He survived the Dark Lord's Killing curse, Hagrid. He is the…. The Boy-Who-Lived."

* * *

 **Several hours later…**

Albus Dumbledore stood against the window of his little office, looking down at the great grounds that encompassed all around Hogwarts castle.

The sun was just peeking over the distant mountains on the horizon, bathing the entire land in the pale orange light. The Black lake shimmered in the early morning light as the giant squid floated on the surface of the lake with its tentacles moving languidly behind it. Several of the merfolk had taken to racing around the squid with their steeds while others were playing some form of the game by rushing around the tentacles at high speed.

The window of the headmaster's office was one of the many mysteries of Hogwarts that Albus had yet to solve. He had once measured the window to its exact length and realized that it was no more than a square of two feet and yet looking at it would make the window look like an arched rectangle of nearly four feet. Albus found this to be utterly fascinating as the window looked and felt to be as large as four feet but measuring it provided a length of no more than two feet.

The other mystery was the view offered. The window faced east, towards the forbidden forest that surrounded Hogwarts on all sides and the distant mountains above which the sun rose every day. But, the window also provided the view of the Black Lake located in the opposite direction and parts of the forbidden forest that should not have been visible from his position.

The headmaster of the oldest magical school in all of Europe had always the magical view available from his office as it never failed to bring a smile to his face at the wonders achievable through magic. Today, it left him with an extreme sense of melancholy.

The Hogwarts staff, bar few, had left the school grounds and were celebrating the death of the Dark Lord with their family, friends, even strangers alongside the entirety of Wizarding Britain. The pubs were filled to the brim with copious amounts of alcohol being consumed by giddy witches and wizards. Fireworks were being launched in all major magical settlements and Diagon Alley looked like Christmas and Halloween had arrived together.

Albus stifled a sigh. Once he had provided Hagrid with a portkey to the school's infirmary and sent a Patronus message to Poppy, he had immediately sent another Patronus message to Barty asking him to meet Albus in the Director's office in the Ministry as quickly as possible. Upon arriving at the office and finding the Director waiting for him in a sour mood, he quickly relayed the details of the Dark Lord's demise and the death of the Potters, save their child.

At this point, Albus had paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. He could leave the infant's name out of the story, make up a rather believable explanation and feed it to the Director and the masses, but the people had labored under the darkness for so long that they would need a light to help them cope with the sudden news that the Dark had retreated. He knew the people would accept any explanation given by him if it meant Voldemort was truly gone. However, there would be all kinds of inquisitions into the matter sooner or later and the death eaters who would escape persecution for their crimes would sooner or later search for their Dark Lord who was dead. So, he had decided on a course of action that he knew he might come to regret and told Barty the truth of the entire matter.

Disappointment flooded Albus upon seeing Barty's eager acceptance of the story. After the news was quickly percolated by an overly excited and relieved Barty through the entire DMLE and the Ministry departments, he informed the Director of Sirius's betrayal and had pointed them to safe houses where the man might be lurking.

After passing the news to Bagnold and a few other high ranking officials, Albus had apparated to Hogwarts and made his way to the infirmary. The following meeting with Poppy led him to where he was now overlooking the grounds of the school. Resisting the urge to scowl at his thoughts, he turned to face the room.

* * *

The structure of the Headmaster's office had not changed since the school was built over a thousand years ago; a large circular room with steps behind the headmaster's desk leading to the private quarters. The walls of the room were covered with various shelves filled with books, tomes, scrolls and various kinds of writing implements and artifacts. A few tables littered around the borders of the room with dozens of artifacts dotting their surface.

On the desk was a golden perch reserved for Fawkes. The Phoenix sang a melancholic note while Albus took his chair behind the desk to face the three visitors seated on the chairs opposite him. The peculiarity of the present situation was that the three were his teachers at one point or another during his long and fruitful life.

The chair on the left was occupied by the legendary alchemist, Nicholas Flamel. To his right sat his wife Perenelle Flamel, one of the world's foremost authorities on rituals, esoteric and arcane magical systems and effects. On the extreme right sat Samuel Thüringen, Head of the Battle-Transfiguration Guild.

Normally, a meeting of such illustrious people would have been a rather public event. However, the current discussion was taking place in complete secrecy and there was only a single matter that occupied the attention of all who sat in the office.

Harry James Potter.

A few hours ago, Albus had done what he had thought what would be the best idea in such circumstances. Upon his arrival to the infirmary, Poppy had hounded him with questions that he did not possess answers to. She had outright said that there was nothing she could do at the moment and St. Mungo's was too overcrowded with injured and half-dead witches and wizards to provide any help.

Albus moved to the bed where Harry lay and observed the baby for a few seconds. Finding no visual signs of any damage, he activated his Magesight again, fully aware he was straining his body beyond its limits. What was revealed to him was so shocking that he, at first, refused to believe his senses? He had spent untold minutes casting every single diagnostic spell he knew before giving up and deactivating his Magesight. He was not understanding the results he received and the stress due to using his ability was taxing his aged body. Knowing there was only one course of action he could follow, he went to the floo and called his mentors, The Flamels.

His reasons for contacting the Flamels was two-fold: One, Perenelle was possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of things long forgotten by the world. If there was anyone who could explain what was happening to young Harry, she could. Two, Nicholas had access to the legendary vitality magic that everyone knew as the Philosopher's Stone. His old alchemy teacher might be able to help stabilize or even heal the boy if he was in dire need and his mentor was willing. But nothing that had occurred after had been part of his expectations.

"Professors," Albus pleaded with his mentors, "please, please try to see what lies before your eyes. This is a child we are talking about, one who has just lost his parents at the hands of a killer and whose godfather has betrayed him. He is an orphan. Not a monster who wishes to destroy the world we love. You cannot possibly think there is any reason to-"

"Albus!" Perenelle snapped, "Is that not too hypocritical of you?"

Albus frowned in confusion. "I do not understand what you speak of, Lady Flamel. I have done nothing-"

"Nothing!?" Perenelle said with mock surprise. "You once went to war, Albus, going against everything you vowed to defend. You killed hundreds and destroyed thousands of lives in order to defeat your former friend, Gellert Grindelwald. You do not get to speak about not killing one to save the many."

Albus scowled in anger. "I did what I had to do!" He snapped. "It was WAR. I chose to sacrifice those lives, yes. I chose to ignore the collateral damage my actions caused, yes. But I never ever chose to do what you are willing to do right now. I have never chosen to kill an innocent child in cold blood."

Nicholas' lips twitched and Samuel grimaced as Perenelle laughed a high, cruel laugh. Her laughter subsiding, she looked at Albus with a smirk that sent a slight shiver down his spine. "I never knew you were such an overweening person, Albus. Need I remind you of the prophecy you place blind faith in?" Her smirk grew crueler. "The same prophecy you trot out as your justification for never choosing to face that upstart pawn who styles himself as a wannabe Lord?"

Albus mentally frowned. His reasons for choosing to not face Voldemort on the battlefield were highly personal and that he did not wish to reveal to anyone. The prophecy had merely provided him with a convenient excuse, no matter the dire nature of its contents.

"You do not get to sit there and preach about right and wrong. Not when the upstart learned of the prophecy through your incompetence." Perenelle said, anger marring her words before her expression became strangely thoughtful. "Although, if we consider the circumstances in which the prophecy was revealed and you letting the information escape, one could deduce that it was all a ploy to manipulate your Dark Lord into a position that would allow you to defeat him."

Samuel flinched at the blatant accusation as he knew better than most that Albus had always hated the fact that everyone considered him to be some sort of master manipulator who controlled events and people around him with the ruthlessness of a Machiavellian mind.

Albus bristled in rage. "Lady Flamel, it would behoove you to not make accusations without evidence and thought. I did not put a death sentence on two families as part of a plan to kill Voldemort."

Perenelle dismissed the answer with a wave of her hand. "It does not matter if you staged the event or not. What matters is that you have never set foot on the battlefield to help your fellow countrymen."

"Yes, but the prophecy clearly states that Harry is the one who will-" Albus tried to explain but was interrupted by Perenelle.

"He fulfills the conditions of our prophecy too!"

Albus froze for a second at the admission. He had never heard of a second prophecy, especially one that pertained to young Harry Potter. "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Lady Flamel."

Perenelle's eyes blaze with anger. "That boy is the last of the Peverell bloodline, Albus. His accursed, vile, traitor of an ancestor nearly destroyed the magical world because we did not wish to follow him. Two generations of magus were killed in the attempts to put down that mad abomination. TWO GENERATIONS, ALBUS!" She screamed the words. "That was the price we had to pay for the Statute of Secrecy. Thousands of lives destroyed to ensure the entire magical world was protected." Her fingers clenched. "It took centuries to recover from the massacre perpetrated by his ancestor. Now, you, Albus Dumbledore, wish to let this child live, the very child marked by the prophecy signifying the end of the world."

Albus looked at her, completely shocked out of his wits. "The… end of the world?"

Perenelle would have snapped again if Nicholas had not placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Once his wife had relaxed slightly, he said, "We do understand your point, Albus. Irrespective of Perenelle's opinion on the matter, I certainly know why you are unable to… condone our actions." He leaned forward to look Albus straight in the eye. "What we are about to reveal is classified at the highest levels of secrecy. If you ever reveal even a scrap of what you now learn, you will be declared traitor and forced into the Dead Man's Chair." His tone was utterly solemn. "Should the need arise, I shall carry out the sentence myself."

"Professors," Albus asked, irritation in his tone, "I find myself quite curious as to why you would even consider that I would betray the oaths I have sworn on my life and magic. What have I done to earn such suspicions? Is this what I deserve for all my years of service?"

"Do not take their words to heart, Brian," Samuel spoke up, completely ignoring the seething look from Perenelle. "There has always been bad blood between the Flamels and the Peverell family. First, I would like to state that none of us have any doubts regarding your devotion to the Guilds. However, understand that the Council and the Guilds have spent centuries doing our best to ensure the prophecy that marked the end of our world does not come to fruition."

Albus frowned. "All I hear are empty words and grave news but none of you have yet to explain how killing a child could help you accomplish your… goals."

Making sure that neither of the Flamels showed the slightest reluctance, he proceeded. "As you well know, the Guilds were founded over two thousand years ago by some of the greatest magus of their age. The Guilds were charged with the responsibility of protecting the magical world against threats that would destroy everything we are."

"Yes," said Albus. "This is basic history, taught to all apprentices of the guilds. It does not explain why-"

"Patience, Brian." Samuel chided his former apprentice. "Let me finish. In the seventh century, the entire magical world was attacked. Warriors of Norwegian descent-"

"I believe the correct term is Berserker." Perenelle interrupted primly.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Berserker?"

"Human warriors of extremely large stature, possessing bodies that surpassed the greatest of mundane warriors and resistant to all but the most powerful of all magic. Wielding broadswords with the ability to nullify magic, they fought with unmatched ferocity. They were hired by the Vikings and other mundane empires to destroy the magical world."

Samuel glanced at Perenelle as she finished her explanation and turned to watch the ceiling with an interest usually reserved for rituals. Picking up from where she left off, he said, "Our world fought long and hard against them, sacrificing so many magus that we thought it would be our end. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your view, even the mundanes sustained heavy losses. Soon, the Guilds and the Leaders of our communities realized that we could not afford to continue the war any longer and all of them came together and devised a solution to end it."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "The Statute of Secrecy?" Despite the Statute being common knowledge, the origins of the statute were lost in arcane documents or hidden away in the most secure vaults available, unknown to all but a select few.

Samuel shook his head. "Not quite." His lips twisted into a frown. "The magical world and the mundane world signed a treaty in blood. According to the contract, we agreed to never raise arms against each other through any means. Should any individual on either side break the pact, we would work together to quickly neutralize them."

"An admirable goal." Albus pointed out.

"One that your precious child's ancestor tore to pieces," Perenelle spoke in rage.

Albus raised an eyebrow. It looked like the subject of the Peverells was an extremely sore topic for the Lady Flamel and anybody willing to raise the subject seemed to be under significant risk if the glances Samuel passed were any indication. Nicholas sat in his chair with perfect poise, his face betraying none of his emotions.

"The terms of the treaty were heavily discussed between the Council, the Lords of the Great Houses of Europe, the Guilds, and Leaders in the International magical community," Samuel explained. "The Flamels were part of the original discussions… as was Alduin Peverell, the most infamous mage in the history of our world, whose mere mention sends the Lady Flamel into a blind rage." He deftly ignored the glare directed his way.

"Alduin… Peverell." Dumbledore repeated to himself. Decades earlier, when he had completed his apprenticeship under Nicholas, the man had revealed that his true age was beyond fifteen hundred years, a fact which held true for his wife as well. Even so, the news that his mentors were part of a different world had never ceased to amaze him.

"Alduin the betrayer," Perenelle said, rage lacing her words. "The monster not only betrayed us but destroyed my entire family. That disgusting-"

Nicholas gripped his wife's hand firmly to halt her rant. Giving her a slight nod, he turned to see a wide-eyed Albus. "Please excuse her, Albus."

"No apologies necessary, Professor." Albus returned. "However, I admit, as fascinating as this new piece of history is, I still do not see a reason to commit infanticide."

Still gripping his wife's hand, Nicholas cleared his throat. "Let me finish the story, Albus. Once the conditions of the treaty were agreed upon and signed by every single party including Alduin, the man betrayed everything he stood for and declared war on the berserkers and the mundane empires. And then the man went ahead and committed the most horrible atrocities." A hint of anger could be discerned in his tone.

"What exactly did he do?" asked Albus warily."

Nicholas's gold eyes flashed for a brief second. "He obliterated entire mundane cities and towns, executed innocents by the hundreds and slaughtered anyone who stood in his path. For better or worse, the Peverell Family have always possessed a connection to the Root that any magus would have killed for." He was frustrated by his admission as he continued to stare into bright blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles. "Do you know the lore of the Elder wand, Albus?"

"Wand of Elder, never prosper." Albus chanted. The Elder Wand in his grip appeared to hum in agreement.

"Indeed. What you might not have known, dear Albus is that there has only ever been one Master of the Hallows or, as the children's tale says, the Master of Death."

"Alduin?"

Nicholas nodded gravely. "He was neither the Master of Death as the legends state nor he was immortal." He clarified, "But he was closer to that state than anyone I have ever known."

Albus did not know which part of that answer he should comment on.

"Alduin was a Peverell born with the extremely precocious ability to copy his opponent's magic and use it against them. There was no spell he could use, no thaumaturgical system he could not infiltrate, no form of magic that was alien to him. They called him a Counterfeiter, a Heretic. We believe it was some form of obscure magecraft, but none of our research into the field has yielded the results he displayed effortlessly."

"Copy the opponent's magic?" Albus asked in surprise. "But would that not-"

"Neutralize the opponent's greatest weapon, yes. "Nicholas interrupted, "It was the reason why everyone feared him."

Albus did not have even an inkling of what was now being revealed to him. A magecraft that allowed the practitioner to use any magic… He shuddered to think of the implications when used alongside the legendary Hallows.

Nicholas continued his explanation. "To be honest, the only reason why the Guilds were able to end him was that his son, Marcus, betrayed his father to us. In return for us leaving his family alone, Marcus agreed to cease the Peverell line, giving birth to the Ancient House of Potter. The entire family also agreed to take up an oath to never be a part of any official Council that held sovereignty over a community."

Albus raised an eyebrow. He had often wondered why Charlus Potter, a born politician, had never entered the chambers of the Wizengamot despite the numerous offers he received.

"I will be absolutely candid, Brian," Samuel spoke up. "The reason we are relying on such measures is that of a prophecy delivered to the Guilds by Alistair Porpington in the latter half of 1127. For obvious reasons, the true wording is classified, even to the Alexandrian Archives. What I can reveal to you is that the prophecy predicts the return of the Peverell name and the destruction that would follow in its wake."

Albus squinted his eyes. "That… seems far too vague. How do you know that the boy is the Peverell who will fulfil the prophecy? Samuel, have you entertained the idea that, perhaps, it might be a Peverell who will help you to mitigate the devastation that follows?"

"Repeatedly…" Samuel replied in resignation. "Lady Flamel, however, disagrees with our theories."

"Madame Flamel, if I might be so bold, your wish to end the life of an infant is far too personal," Albus observed. "Besides, the Guilds are sworn not to interfere in the workings of the magical world without sufficient cause. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I cannot, in full conscience, allow you to proceed."

Nicholas raised his hand in a pause gesture. "Your reaction is natural, Albus. However, that is only because you do not know the contents of the prophecy and the events surrounding it."

Albus stood up. "All your arguments and conjecture are very intriguing but do not hold any ground with me. From my position, I see you making the same mistake that cost Voldemort everything. He, in his vanity and delusions of grandeur, tried to stand against the Will of Fate and look where that led to. Are you sure that in your attempts to halt this prophecy you are simply not driving the events that would eventually lead to its fulfilment?"

"Are you sure that, in your well-meaning intention to save this child, you are you not setting the prophecy in action?" Perenelle asked causing Albus falter.

He turned towards Samuel. "Does Serena know about this? I am highly confident that she would not give in to such paranoia. I am sure that every single person part of this decision was a part of the Council."

"Enough!" Perenelle snapped. "You might be the Chief Warlock and the present Supreme Mugwump, Albus Dumbledore, but even you know that what the Council wants, it gets. Did you even notice that the… boy is carrying the upstart's Horcrux in him?"

Albus's face darkened. "It is impossible to create a human Horcrux. Even the abominable Nightmare-child can not-"

Perenelle interrupted him. "Do not play coy with me, Headmaster. You know the identification spells. Cast it on that abomination you call a child. The last of the Peverell bloodline is a Horcrux of one of the most dangerous dark lords in history and you refuse to see it. Need I remind you of what happened to the Ewer of De Noir?"

Albus paled considerably. The Ewer of De Noir was an extremely valuable and powerful artifact that was corrupted when the Dark Lord, Emeric the Evil, had used it as a Horcrux. According to folklore, the Ewer had been enchanted to produce a vitality elixir, which could cure even the most lethal of poisons. After a decade of housing a Horcrux, the corrupted elixir made basilisk venom pale in comparison.

"The child houses a Horcrux, Albus. Even if he survives long, do you still believe that the child would, as you so grandly proclaimed, help us mitigate the devastation?"

For once, Albus Dumbledore had nothing, absolutely nothing to say in rebuttal.

"That child...needs to die. It is necessary… for the Greater Good." Nicholas added.

A shadow flickered across Dumbledore's face. For a long, long time, he had believed that 'For the Greater Good' was, possibly, the worst phrase ever invented since it allowed anyone, no matter how sinister their intentions, to justify their actions in the name of a false justice. It was the cause he had originally believed and the reason that led to the demise of his sister and his brother Aberforth's hatred of him.

It was also the reason why his father, despite acting out of self-defense, had been carted off to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life.

"No," Albus spoke at last. "I refuse to believe that two wrongs make a right. I can understand your concerns since Harry Potter is an impossibility. I accept that I did not live through the wars that tore the continent and the world apart and the betrayal that eventually led to the Statute of Secrecy. I certainly do not possess any knowledge of the portents you seem to recognize as the markers of destruction."

"Professors, I live in the present, and all I see a child whose parents died to ensure his survival. Harry Potter is an orphan whose parents are now dead and whose godfather has betrayed him. Let me be clear, he has lost everything. Prophecy or not, I shall not allow you to sacrifice that child for a phrase that should be burnt out of any language."

"That child will die, irrespective of what you feel, Albus," Perenelle snarled, "I will not have another monster destroy everything we love because your morals stood in our way." She stood ramrod straight with magic sparking dangerously between her fingers.

Albus drew his wand and took a stance, blue eyes glowing with magic.

"Albus. Lady Flamel." Samuel intervened between the two magus. "Might I suggest a truce?"

Albus glanced at Samuel with a frigid gaze. "All of you are my mentors, Samuel. You taught me what it means to a mage. It pains me to stand against you, all of you but I will not let you kill that child."

Samuel looked rather guilty. "I… understand." Giving a silent look to Nicholas, he said, "Albus, you do understand that, short of a Fidelius, you cannot keep the Council from the boy forever, do you not? Even if you all willing to use the Fidelius, it is no way for a child to be brought up, alone and away from the world. You do understand that" It was not a question.

"I do," Albus replied in resignation.

Samuel nodded. "This is my proposition. The Council will not pursue the boy and in return, you shall be responsible for his care. However, I do know the plethora of responsibilities on your shoulders. You and I both understand that you shall not be able to raise the boy on your own."

Albus frowned. There was a solution to their conundrum but he had discarded the idea when it first occurred to him. Based on the current circumstances, it would be the ideal solution to save the life of the child. "I believe I have a solution. Lily Evans has a muggle sister who is now married, I believe. If I were to give young Harry over to her care… and place certain wards and charms around their home, he would be brought up as a Muggle-born. I could even place some of my people on the watch to ensure that the boy grows up as a normal child."

"A sensible plan," Nicholas accepted begrudgingly. He knew better than to argue when Albus was far too obstinate to recognize a true solution to their problems. "Might I suggest blood wards as part of your protection scheme? I can whip up a ward scheme that draws the requisite power from the child. The magical drain would keep even the Horcrux from gaining enough power to possess the child. However, you must understand the blood wards would activate only when the family has accepted the child on their own accord, free of any compulsions."

"This way, you can ensure that the child is safe and healthy, we can ensure the child does not grow up to be the next Dark Lord and none of us murder him in cold blood. If he does not grow up in the manner we like… Well, just take care of your part and there will be no problems on our end."

Dumbledore nodded reluctantly, the Elder Wand urging him to destroy everybody and everything before him.

* * *

 **Two days later…**

"His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter." Albus lied flawlessly. Petunia had already accepted Harry, on her own terms. It was a conversation that felt no inclination to relive and the blood wards would begin functioning as soon as Harry was taken through the front door.

"A letter?" repeated Minerva faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Albus, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future — there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Albus, a grave look visible over the half-moon spectacles he preferred. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

 _He will be safe, Minerva. He will have a life, as normal as his life can possibly be, one that will not result in the Council killing the boy he can even learn to talk… Forgive me._

Minerva opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Albus?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life."

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Minerva grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

The great vehicle stopped with a lurch and Rubeus Hagrid got off it, before walking off towards them, baby Harry in his arms. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss, before handing the baby to the Headmaster.

Albus stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and pressed his hand onto the baby's little chest, feeling its little heart beating valiantly.

Summoning incredible reserves of power, he transferred an enchantment to the boy, one he felt he no longer deserved to possess.

His bright blue eyes no longer twinkling, he slowly muttered, "You are destined to be wounded, yet I harbor hope that, someday, you shall stand, rise from the dust, your broken wish shall one day, shine eternally." He paused for a moment. "Good luck, Harry Potter."

* * *

 **Jan 2, 1992.**

"So - back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked at him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the crazy old man who was the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He had been so desperate to see the mirror that he must have sped past the man. "I — I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how near-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, smiling at the boy in front of him. "So," He said, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry. "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It — well — it shows me, my family —"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy."

"How did you know —?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. The young Weasley boy blamed his family far too much for his behaviour. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use it like a normal mirror. That is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said, slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want…"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. A part of him felt his heart swell with pride and sorrow at the sight of the young boy. There were no lies to be read within his eyes or heart, only a pure desire of yearning for his parents who had long this left this world. This was the boy the Council feared would bring death and destruction on their heads?

"It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

"However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." Albus paused for a moment, wondering if he should actually tell the boy that the mirror had been brought in, with the secondary goal of identifying just how much the soul shard in Harry had affected the boy's thoughts and actions. The sheer innocence he found in those emerald eyes made him feel like the world' biggest fool at the moment.

There was no further need to test the boy. If the Council claimed the report was false, Albus would throw them in front of the mirror and force them to watch as their pathetic wishes take form. Taking a moment to clear his rather violent thoughts, he said, "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again."

Albus paused for a moment, knowing very well that with Voldemort being around, anything was possible. "If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared." He ignored the curious look he received. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up and nearly moved before a question emerged in his mind. Looking at the Headmaster with a certain level of trepidation, he asked, "Sir — Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so." Albus smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Albus. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books." He had a hard time ignoring the fact that his dear sister Ariana had started giving him socks as a birthday gift ever since the day he had ignored everything around him and did what was right, no matter the cost to himself.

He saw the boy put on the cloak and vanish away. Even with his extraordinary Magesight, the Peverell Cloak of Invisibility was beyond him. He knew that if the Council had their way, they would rather have the boy killed, forget letting him find information on his family or receive any of his inheritance.

Luckily, the Cloak was an heirloom, an object he had borrowed from James with the intentions of merely sating his curiosity. For once, the laws of the magical world had aided him in giving the little boy a piece of his family's legacy. Staring at the now closed door, he wondered if the boy actually knew it was Albus who sent him the Cloak on Christmas.

A little smile adorned his face. "It is said that the Cloak hid the bearer from even Death herself. May that comes true for you… Harry Potter. Use it well."

* * *

 **May 20, 1992.**

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…"

It pained the old Headmaster to lie to the face of the little boy who had, just a few days ago, survived an encounter with his destined enemy. He could not reveal the truth to the boy living on the edge of the executioner's knife and whose hilt rested in the hands of Albus. There was no safe way for him to reveal even the bare scraps without bringing the knife on his own head and throwing the boy to the wolves baying for blood. It served no purpose at the moment.

However, the truth about Voldemort was an entirely different matter and could be revealed without endangering the boy. But he was only eleven, an age at which children should play games with their friends, dream about flying castles and spend their days in laughter and joy. He had already survived his first brush with death. The boy needed to know everything soon but that time was not now. Hopefully, it never arrived.

"The truth." Albus sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should, therefore, be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Albus let out a deep sigh. Voldemort had always possessed the dangerous quirk of giving away more information than necessary during talks. During his years of study in Hogwarts, the future Dark Lord had learned to ingratiate himself with all members of staff except Albus, mainly because the future Headmaster had learned to discern the masks people wore to hide their intentions and his highly developed skill in dissembling. Although, when he had originally acquired the skills, he had expected them to be of use in wading through the dangerous waters of the political world, not to detect the intentions of a student who seemed far too perfect in her behavior.

Either way, he was the one man not to be seduced by Voldemort's incredible charm in the school. That status had helped him after the death of Myrtle Warren when the bastard had decided to no longer use the Chamber of Secrets or the monster within. Sadly, none of that would help lie to a child in a matter which, by all rights, he must have been made aware of a long, long time ago.

But how could he, Albus Dumbledore, do that? How was he supposed to inform a young boy that he was destined to fight a Dark Lord? That a prophecy existed which foretold of their inevitable fight to the death? There were no words in the world that would help him explain to a child of eleven years that prophecies were the instruments of Fate and there was nothing anyone on the planet could do to prevent one from being executed, irrespective of the will of the participants.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you." Please don't ask, Harry. "Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind, for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know."

 _Forgive this foolish old man and his foolish old ways._

Harry knew it would him no good to argue. Adults had rarely given him the information when he asked for it. Why should now be any different? Still, he tried to make another effort towards the crazy old Headmaster who seemed both wise beyond measure and tired beyond words, a dichotomy he would not understand for years to come.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you," Albus answered. It was not a lie. "If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He did not realize that love as powerful as your mothers' leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us has left this world, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, and sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

He could not reveal that Harry's innate magic, the ancient and once lost the art of Projection, was the reason he was now scarred with the connection to the Dark Lord and the same for which he was now watched like prey by the Council. That the same power for which he was condemned to a life of suffering proved to be the boon that saved his life when Voldemort attempted to end him.

Looking away from the suspicious green eyes, Albus became very interested in the mosaic glass of the windows, trying to convince himself that he had not lied to the boy. There had to be powerful love somewhere, binding Harry to his mother, love that stopped the boy from becoming a bitter, angry young man like Voldemort once was. He had to believe that such a love did exist out there, somewhere. There had to be. Because if it did not… did the world even need to exist…?

"And the Invisibility Cloak - do you know who sent it to me?" Harry asked slowly. He knew the Headmaster had again failed to answer the real question, but the answer did give him some measure of peace. Besides, he had six more years of schooling left.

 _Keep telling yourself that._ He ignored the thought.

Albus looked at him again. "Ah — your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Blue eyes twinkled. "Useful thing that cloak… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else…"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said, Snape —"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him — Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Yes…" said Albus dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace…"

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped. "And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?" Dumbledore asked, amused.

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

Dumbledore inwardly scowled, putting a mask of bright cheerfulness of a man whose experiment had yielded extraordinary results. "Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise, they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them — but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He smiled and popped a golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

Harry chuckled, elating the old mage.

The 'Stone' had been officially brought in by Albus to serve as a trap for Voldemort. The unofficial reason was to have a source of extremely potent vitality elixir on hand in case something sinister befell the boy because of an altercation with Voldemort. With the prophecy in play, the mage believed that it would be a good idea, and in hindsight, it definitely was. Now, there was certainly no reason to tell the boy that the 'Stone' had been used to create the vitality elixir that had saved his life after Poppy had declared she was unable to save the child.

"Sir," Harry asked one last time.

Albus looked back at him. "One more question, Harry?"

The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Not a question, a… request."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

Harry spoke in a small voice. "Can I… you know, stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?"

The Headmaster couldn't help but hold back the frown to float over his lips. "Why would you want that, Harry?"

"It's…." The boy hesitated. "Hogwarts is really the first place that has… really felt like home to me." Albus kept a stoic face as the boy continued, "Could I… live here?"

It broke the old man's heart. "Unfortunately, Harry. The rules are quite strict on this matter. Students must go back to their families for the summer. Besides, would not your family be… worried if you stayed away from them?"

The little boy frowned, silent for a while. Then, he looked up at him, hesitant green meeting sad blue. "Yes sir, they will."

* * *

 **June 12, 1993.**

"So… it was a basilisk," said one of the shadows sitting in one of the chairs around the large circular conference table. Albus Dumbledore mentally groaned but silently waited for the man to continue. "This is definitive proof that Salazar went around the bend. The man put a basilisk in a school filled with the magical children of the entire Island of Britain. I knew that he was a paranoid bastard but this… No wonder he was chased out, although I always wondered why the other Founders did not take such measures earlier."

Personally, Albus felt that it was a classic example of the pot calling the kettle black. Ignoring his sarcastic inner-voice, He cleared his throat to gain the attention of the Council Members. "We do have some really good news. Harry Potter survived his altercation with the basilisk, -" He ignored more than one scowl at the words. "- and destroyed the diary which I later determined was a Horcrux of Voldemort and Harry's account of the events in the Chamber."

"An enchanted diary…" Perenelle murmured. "An enchanted item is not even close to suitable for the vessel of a Horcrux; the object too frail and the magic too free for an act of binding to occur. Such imperfect Horcrux vessels rarely ever last long before they inevitably decay. I am quite surprised that the diary did not crumble within a decade." She tapped a manicured fingernail on the table. "It is definitely an interesting mystery, one that may answer several questions on the origins of the Horcrux ritual itself."

"Questions, Lady Flamel?" asked another shadow. This time, the voice was distinctly female with an air of strength and superiority. "It is already established that Herpo was the one who created the first Horcrux and the mad fool is long since dead."

Perenelle smiled. "Herpo was the first known user of the Horcrux ritual. It is a distinction that many seem to forget. Like the others who followed in his footsteps, he too was following the directions of people whose names are now lost to the sands of time, Madam. The modifications made by all the users of the ritual over the past three millennia has made it rather difficult to find the original source of the ritual. Not even the 'The Dead King's Banquet'."

Turning to Albus, she said, "I digress. Based on what you have told us, and his history, it seems that your Dark Lord began testing the ritual with the diary when he was still a student at Hogwarts. Correct me if I am wrong, but was there not a death on the premises during the 1940's?"

"You are correct." Albus admitted bitterly. The death of the student was the catalyst that drove him to force the closing of the school and the same reason he had finally entered the Great Wizarding War of Europe to end Grindelwald's mad reign of power. "The student was Myrtle Warren; she died on 13 June 1943. Voldemort framed the then student Hagrid and the acromantula Aragog as those responsible for her murder."

"The stupidity of Wizarding Britain never ceases to amaze me, Dumbledore." The female shadow commented.

"Voldemort probably used her murder to fuel his first ritual, although it can be argued against since we do not yet know when he first began his experiments into the forbidden arte. In all likelihood, she was simply the collateral damage when the Chamber was first opened." Perenelle massaged her temples.

"Is there no way to determine if Myrtle's death fuelled the ritual to make the diary? She still haunts Hogwarts as a ghost, if that helps." Albus asked.

"It is not that simple, Albus," Perenelle replied. "A Horcrux, even one still intact, contains the merest essence of the soul which fuelled its creation. Trying to extract that essence and then identify the victim is a matter of immense difficulty. Even among the vaunted ranks of the Necromancers Guild, such a feat is not performed lightly as the backlash from the identification ritual would demolish a quarter of your heavily warded school, my dear Headmaster."

Albus suppressed a shiver. "I understand, Lady Flamel. But I can confirm that several Horcruxes were made by Voldemort." Several members, including Perenelle, gave muted gasps.

"Beyond the child, Albus?" One of the shadows asked with some level of trepidation.

"Yes," Albus replied, his irritation masked behind a solemn facade. "Unfortunately, I have yet to determine the rest of their number. I was hoping to discern possible locations of the other vessels using the piece we possess."

"The boy?" The shadow who first spoke asked.

Albus mentally scowled. "The diary." He countered. "Horcruxes are notoriously difficult to detect, especially those that have existed for decades. It would of great help if we could use the diary as the base to create the necessary identification spells."

"Did you forget that the diary was stabbed through with the fang of a thousand-year-old basilisk?" asked Perenelle rhetorically. "Any attempts to create such charms using that diary will be highly difficult at best and a fool's errand at worst."

"Could we not separate the signatures?" asked the female shadow.

"I believe we must, at the very least, try to," replied Albus. Facing the entire Council, he said, "It is why I wish to procure the aid of the Necromancers Guild. Any aid they may provide-"

Nicholas interrupted the old mage. "Before we discuss the matter of aid, do answer a question of mine." Staring at curious blue eyes, he asked, "You were offered the position in this Council five decades ago. You chose to refuse the prestigious offer that few ever receive. Yet, in the end, you choose to ask help from the same Council which you supposedly hate and whose oaths you blatantly defied when you chose to step onto the battlefields of Europe during the Great Wizarding War. Do you not think you must first pay for your actions?"

"I believe I have done so since 1946." Dumbledore returned coldly.

"As you say, Supreme Mugwump." Nicholas sneered, the expression odd on his usually composed face. "I once saw potential in you, Albus. You were one of the greatest mages to ever live. Yet you continue to take actions that are detrimental to the world we live in. Do you think I did not realize the purpose for which the false stone was used for? I understood your intentions the moment you mentioned Hogwarts. But I did hold out hope that you would learn the error of your ways and realize what must be done. Instead, you chose to save the life of the boy prophesized to end the-"

"The prophecy states that destruction would follow the reveal of the Last Peverell." Albus interrupted his former mentor. "It does not say that Peverell would be the cause."

"Do you love pretending to be a wizard living in a fairy tale?" Nicholas asked angrily. "As always, you speak of things you do not understand in a manner that infuriates everyone. You saved the boy when he would have died, fool. Instead of allowing the prophecy to be negated through means that would not destroy us, your ideals chose to save the boy."

Albus understood why Nicholas was having this discussion a year later. This was the first time Albus had appeared in front of the Council since Harry had entered Hogwarts and Nicholas was using the situation to turn the Council against him. The sad part was, it was a tactic that might actually work on the rest of the members.

"Do you understand the ramifications of the actions you have taken over the past decade?" Nicholas continued, "What happened to the man who once advocated 'For the Greater Good'? And do not dare bring up Gellert. He was just another power-hungry fool who merely adopted the motto to make his massacre seem legit, much like the mundane, Hitler, he controlled to mask his actions. You have resisted us for decades, Albus, but to what effect?"

"To do what is right." Albus answered coldly, "A factor you seem to repeatedly ignore in your grand scheme of moving the world at your whims. You have been living above the clouds for so long that you don't seem to recognize that people have the right to choose their own path. You do not get to sit there and preach to me, Grandmaster Flamel."

"Enough!" Perenelle snapped, dragging the attention of the entire group, save one, to her. "We are digressing from the point. What needs to be understood right now is that the boy remained alive despite the basilisk venom in his veins, but the soul shard in the diary was completely annihilated. I believe it suspicious that even phoenix tears should be able to heal him, especially when the venom was already in his veins."

"Do you think it was the Peverell blood that-?" Another shadow asked.

Perenelle answered, "It doesn't matter." She turned towards Albus, "Do you have the memory of what happened in the Chamber?"

Albus frowned. "For reason that is as of yet uncertain to me, my scan of the surface thoughts revealed nothing but impenetrable darkness when Harry was talking about the events in the Chamber. I could not risk a deeper scan without harming him."

"It could be that the Horcrux wished to hide the truth of the matter from you or anyone else who wished to know the truth. For all we know, the boy could have already absorbed the soul piece into himself. The imperfect Horcrux was more likely to get assimilated into him, especially since he seems to show none of the signs that a victim of possession might demonstrate."

"What are you insinuating?" Dumbledore questioned, inwardly growling.

"I'm insinuating nothing, Albus." Perenelle said, "Merely stating an observation."

"And did you also observe that it might simply be the magic of the Chamber itself which might be keeping those memories protected against mental intrusions? Perhaps there is a charm that prevents another person from viewing the memories. Or am I, the only one who has ever heard of memory-lock charms?" Albus sneered, completely infuriated at the Ritual Mistress's behavior.

"Or," Perenelle said archly, "the boy died in the Chamber and it is the Horcrux that is living in the form of that abomination. Does it not appear strange that the basilisk venom would destroy a Horcrux in mere moments yet let a twelve-year-old live on long enough to be healed by phoenix tears?"

The entire Council appeared to have been shocked into silence.

"Do not insinuate such things without proper evidence, Lady Flamel," Albus said, holding onto his temper by a strand. "When the boy was later admitted to the infirmary after the fiasco in the Chamber, I personally cast every single spell I knew to identify anything wrong with him. He is still a Horcrux, despite the theory-" He sneered at the word. "-that you attempted to just put forth in your ongoing efforts to have the boy killed."

Nicholas intervened before the fight escalated. "Despite the arguments of my wife and your… passionate defense of the boy, Albus, we do not have actual proof of what happened in the Chamber. Since only a Parselmouth may access it, we cannot-"

"I am sure that if you asked nicely, Harry would help you get in." Albus mocked.

"Do not mock me, Albus." Perenelle returned, "I would sooner die than take help from someone of that accursed bloodline."

"Did you enter the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore?" The female shadow asked, knowing Perenelle's propensity for devolving into a rant when the Peverell kid was involved.

"I did," replied Albus. "Two days after Harry left the infirmary, I asked him to lead me into the fabled Chamber and, despite his misgivings over the matter, led me to the place where it all occurred."

"And what did you find?"

"Exactly what I expected to find," Albus replied promptly. "A dead basilisk with its eyes gouged out and a hole the size of a sword through its nose. An empty nest where it originally resided and two or three empty rooms. Before you ask me, no there were no items belonging to Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber. In fact, beyond the carcass, there was nothing in the Chamber."

"Let me answer your next question too. I spent an entire week scouring the Chamber with the help of young Harry and found nothing else of import. You do not need to salivate at the idea of obtaining the legendary tomes of the Founder. I believe that Voldemort or another Parselmouth who discovered the Chamber earlier than the 1940's might have emptied of all objects of value."

"You are forgetting the boy could have hidden them away himself," Perenelle said harshly.

"Are you not being too… hysterical over the entire issue, Lady Flamel?" Albus could not help the comment. "Ever since the day you first laid eyes on him, you have wished for the death of the last Potter. You seem to forget that this was the same boy who lost both his parents and godfather in a single night." Scowling in rage, he said, "Based on your irrational hatred, I cannot help but wonder if you are simply disguising ulterior motives by using the prophecy as an excuse."

Perenelle glowered at the mage. "Stay within your limits, Supreme Mugwump."

"Stay within your senses, Lady Flamel." Albus countered. Then, he stared at the entire Council, or at least those who were present for the current session. "Fifty-one years ago, I was nominated for a seat in this very council itself, but I refused the offer because taking the seat meant ignoring the real world, and the ripples of the decisions taken over the course of my life."

He paused.

"I did not do that. I could not do that. I know that I was partially responsible for Grindelwald's rise. I helped to map his path, I drew up the plans, and I encouraged his ambitions and much more in our shared plans to dominate the muggles. There is not a day that goes by I don't regret my actions. I defied my oath to the Guilds and broke the laws of the Council to join the fight against Grindelwald because I could no longer hide behind excuses. I massacred the necromancer's forces before bringing him to heel. Once my self-appointed task was complete, and the war had ended, I went back to my post as a Hogwarts Professor."

Albus paused again and took a deep breath. "I was condemned by the Guilds and the Council for my actions and I did not complain. You wished to execute me and I did not raise any objections."

"However, now you expect me to ignore your attempts at killing an innocent child who had done nothing but try to live. Is that thought so abhorrent to this Council?"

"It is not just an innocent life, Albus Dumbledore." Perenelle fumed. "It is a choice between a single life and the entire world. The Council cannot take actions based on the needs of an individual. We must focus on the good of all."

"The same Greater Good that justified massacre thousands at the hands of Gellert Grindelwald?" Albus sneered. He could not understand why the Council was so hell-bent on ignoring everything in the wake of their irrational fear. For Merlin's sake, even Fawkes loved the boy.

For the next minute, not a single person spoke. Then, Nicholas Flamel stood up and addressed him. "I think… you should leave, right now, Albus, before we allow more… unpleasant things to fester."

* * *

 **July 25, 1993**.

With a snarl, Albus Dumbledore threw today's edition of the Daily Prophet with such force that it knocked several artifacts from one of the tables that littered the room.

He had known, always known that, since the day he had first met the man, that Cornelius Fudge lacked the ability to run a nation. Oh sure, the man had the incredible skill to ensure the media was always in his favor and possessed the necessary charm to seduce his superiors with words and bribes. But he was a complete and utter fool who was elected by the Wizengamot because, a) The most suitable candidates for Minister after the end of the last war were either no unable to take the job, corrupt or otherwise dead, b) He was the only choice that would not anger any faction and c) The Houses could easily mould the man to their wishes.

Despite all the political capital, Albus had expended, he was unable to prevent Cornelius from becoming the Minister of Magic. It certainly did not help that most of the Light faction were either dead, grieving for their loved ones or no longer possessed the power to shape the political landscape. The Pureblood faction had taken advantage of the post-war chaos splendidly and with many of the Death Eaters escaping using the Imperius excuse, their position had strengthened exponentially.

And Cornelius had performed to the exact expectations of the Houses. Albus watched helplessly as the man let the factions tear the ideals for which the people fought against Voldemort. By the time 1990 arrived, the British Wizarding World had returned to the same state it was in before Voldemort had arrived on their shores. When that realization first hit him, Albus had destroyed his office in his rage and it was not helped by the fact that Cornelius had chosen to award himself the prestigious Order of Merlin, a prestigious honor bestowed upon those individuals whose brave actions had defended Wizarding Britain from both internal and external threats.

Albus had approached Cornelius after Harry's first brush with Voldemort possessed Quirrell to try and convince the man that Voldemort was still alive only for the fool to dismiss all the evidence. He did not even consent to have the DOM investigate the matter and had effectively ordered Amelia to never help the Headmaster in the matter.

When students in the school were being petrified throughout the previous year, Albus had repeatedly approached Cornelius to send Aurors to investigate the matter. Yet, the so-called Minister had refused, citing that news of such attacks would result in the school being closed. The Headmaster would have gladly consented to the measure but there was no use in arguing with the man. Approaching the Daily Prophet for help in the matter would do no good and the Ministry had begun intercepting the owls from Hogwarts to ensure the news did not spread.

The Headmaster hated the truth of the matter. Muggle-borns were being petrified and, thus, there was no need to look into the matter when the Minister's benefactors and their children remained unharmed. After Harry had killed the basilisk and saved the life of young Ginevra Weasley, Cornelius had not even deigned to acknowledge the fact, and Albus knew Lucius was behind the entire fiasco.

The Minister's cowardice in any matter that required him to grow a spine had frayed Albus's patience badly and now the fool wished to place Dementors around a school because he was worried about their resident celebrity from being harmed by the boy's now escaped godfather, Sirius Black.

 _DEMENTORS! Around a school full of young children! Does that fool wish to kill the students!?_

Albus stood up from the Headmaster's chair and moved to the window, looking at the grounds from the splendid view offered by his office.

He could not even fathom the notion of those soul-sucking monstrosities gliding across the grounds of Hogwarts. It was unthinkable. Even the ICW would have denied permission to use the abominations for such a purpose but it was an undeniable fact that Dementors would be placed around Hogwarts and that the decision to place them was taken in less time than it took for the Floo Regulator to install a new Floo. It had led to one simple conclusion.

Someone, sitting in the shadows, was pulling the strings. Strings which had facilitated the smooth passing of such an erroneous decision without the slightest of issues. It brought forth his suspicion about the sudden appointment of the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge. The woman was practically a nobody in the political circles and did not have any worthwhile experience to her resume either. The official report stated that she had studied at Hogwarts for two years before shifting to Durmstrang where she had completed the remainder of her magical education. Before her current appointment to the British Ministry of Magic, the woman had been employed at the ICW, working as a mere clerk in the Alexandrian Archives. Almost overnight, Cornelius had plucked her from the position and designated her as his closest confidant.

It screamed the word 'Conspiracy' in big, bold, black letters on virgin white paper.

Albus was reminded of the ICW meeting he had attended the previous week, where he heard the other members voice their opinions about how Babajide Akingbade, the Wizengamot representative from the Central African Ministry of Magic, was being considered for the position of Supreme Mugwump. It appeared that his last meeting with the Council had soured his relations with the members, especially the Flamels.

Even Cornelius's decision seemed like something the Flamels might pull to teach their former student a lesson in obedience.

But still, Dementors! Even with his position as the Headmaster, how could he possibly keep track of those monstrosities, especially when the revered Council seemed ready to do anything to teach him a lesson? A vindictive part of him wished to be a Gryffindor for once and show them why it was not a good idea to anger one of the most powerful mages in history… It was a fool's dream and Harry would be left to die if Albus was not present to hold the threat at bay.

More than that, the Council, despite their irrational fear of a child, served as the guardians of the magical world. They were all that stood against the Knights and worse, the Shadows of Ravenborough.

 _What do I do?_

Albus screamed out in frustration. Not only would those monsters be responsible for the nightmares the students would no doubt have, it was not a stretch to think they might just catch a student unawares and suck his soul-

Blue eyes widened. _Those... Imbeciles._

It was a farce; he was sure of it. A farce the Council had employed to discreetly kill the boy. The Council must know that Harry might not be the only student the Dementors would target. It would certainly not be the first time that-

The thought stopped midway, as a realization hit him.

Of course! Dumbledore instantly raced towards the fireplace, threw in some floo powder and yelled, "Department of Mysteries. Croaker's Den."

* * *

 **September 1, 1993.**

There was a knock on the door of Minerva's office and the old mage who sat in her seat responded, "Enter, Miss Granger."

The door opened and a nervous Hermione Granger walked in and shut the door behind her.

Albus Dumbledore, seated behind the sprawling table of the Transfiguration Professor, glanced over the third-year Gryffindor. Indicating the chair before him, he said, "Take a seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione did it without a word.

"I assume that Professor McGonagall has intimated the details regarding this meeting?" Albus spoke sternly, but not without kindness.

Hermione bobbed her head so quickly that a muggle child might have likened her to one of the characters from the cartoons serialized on televisions.

"I must ask you a few questions first, Miss Granger," said Albus, blue eyes trained on brown. "Shall we begin?"

Hermione nodded.

"Why do you wish to take all the electives for the third year, Miss Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering which answer would ensure she got her wish.

"I will not deny your request for speaking the truth, Miss Granger," said Albus.

Hermione spoke hesitantly. "I wish to learn everything I can about Magic, Headmaster."

Albus smiled sadly. "OWL Exams are highly strenuous periods of intense study; students spend their entire fifth year in preparation for them with many of them ending up in the infirmary or worse due to the lengths they push themselves to. The timetable was designed to ensure that no student could take more than three electives during their third year. This system was developed after more than one overzealous student had pushed themselves to the brink in years past."

"So, I must ask. Why do you wish to take on such a burden that will inevitably harm you?"

Hermione frowned. "I… I don't want to miss anything about magic, Professor. Runes, Creatures, and Arithmancy were my original choices as they seemed to be the most interesting options. Then, I learned that Divination was an attempt to see the future using all sorts of things like crystal balls and tea leaves and cards. Muggle studies would be quite fascinating as I will be learning about them from a wizard's perspective."

There was a bright gleam in her eyes. "I want to learn everything I can about magic. This-This world is really wonderful and amazing and- and terrifying… But I still want to be a part of it. For that, I need to know everything I can, Professor. I have to do my best. I have to."

For the first time, Albus Dumbledore frowned at her. This was one of the reasons he pitied overzealous students. They wished to prove their worth so much, either to themselves or to others, that they tended to ignore the consequences of their actions. "Miss Granger, I never chose all the electives because I knew and understood that I did not have to study everything at once. You can still choose the standard three electives, complete the necessary OWL's and NEWT's and then take on another subject to learn. The Department of Education does hold independent testing for adult witches and witches."

Hermione shook her head. "I am sorry, Professor, but I wish to study what I can right now rather than delay it."

Albus sighed mentally. He had seen that expression for too many times. There was no way he was going to persuade her from the path she had chosen. "As Professor McGonagall might have mentioned, I have the power to authorize your wish to take up all five electives. But let me warn you again. It might have detrimental effects on your health."

"A few hours of lost sleep are of no consequence as long as I can more about magic." Hermione returned stubbornly.

Albus relaxed into his chair, observing the girl. "I have a proposition for you, Miss Granger, but regardless of whether you accept it or not, you must swear to keep the contents of our discussion a secret from everyone. Can you do that?"

Hermione nodded. She had studied the subject of vows and oaths the previous year when someone mentioned that Harry could perform an oath to prove that he was not the Heir of Slytherin. Once she had learned of them and their consequences, however, she had expressly forbidden Harry from performing. The books had described pretty gruesome consequences for poorly worded oaths or oath-breakers. But, this was Headmaster Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of their age. "I can, sir."

"Very well," Albus replied. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out what seemed to be a long, silver chain with a little hourglass attached at the end like a pendant. "This, Miss Granger, is a Time-Turner. A device that allows its bearer, in this case, you, to literally jump back in time."

"Time?" Hermione gulped. While the magical world had its own share of wonders, she had certainly not expected to deal with time travel of all things.

"I see you are aware of some of the possible consequences of manipulating Time." Albus returned slowly. Having a highly rigid and structured mental landscape was a veritable feast for an accomplished Legilimens, and he could not help himself from peeking into her mind every now and then. "As you are aware, Miss Granger, the consequences of time travel are extremely… dangerous, and can even lead to loss of life."

Hermione gulped once again.

Albus observed the girl's reaction. Wilbert Croaker had intimated to her about their newest product from the Time division- an experimental product that they called 'Time-Turner'. A small device that allowed an individual to travel back in time by a few hours. The Unspeakable needed a… guinea pig, a test subject who would use the device exactly as they were instructed, and did not create any paradoxes.

Unfortunately, no one among the Unspeakables could be chosen since, being researchers themselves, they would become either over-paranoid or… Well, never mind. They needed an individual who was not part of the DOM but trustworthy enough to use the device without causing trouble.

Albus had manipulated the Head of the DOM by playing on the research angle with the promise that Albus himself would directly oversee the test subject and swore a vow to never use the device for selfish reasons. The Headmaster had decided it would be a good idea to have such a device on hand, at least for as long as the dementors were… guests of the school.

The Headmaster leaned forward. "Understand, Miss Granger. There are certain rules that you must follow without exception or deviation. The rules are in place to ensure that the very essence of your existence is not erased due to a paradox you have created."

Ensuring he had her full attention, Albus continued his explanation. "First: The Time-Turner will be locked to you and you only. No one else will be able to use it and none must lay eyes on the device. Second: Each of your classes is an hour long. You turn the hourglass, also called the dial, by a single full turn and you shall travel back by an hour. Third: You must not be seen by anyone when you use the device. Fourth and the most important rule: Your past self must never be allowed to see your present self. You must follow these rules to the letter, Miss Granger." His tone was extremely grave.

"You must understand; the ministry was quite skeptical about the matter. I had work considerably hard and expend a few favors to ensure you received this device." A wrinkled finger pointed to the Time-Turner. "I had to explain that you were an extremely talented witch and only wanted the device to further your studies…" He trailed off for effect, watching the hero-worship rise in her eyes. "I hope you understand and respect the level of work I had to do to acquire this for you."

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers. "I am…. I am honored, Headmaster."

"Good." Albus nodded. "There are a few rules I failed to mention. You must never go back in time by more than an hour. Once you do travel back, you must wait for the time to pass before you try again."

Hermione nodded.

"You must keep this a secret from everyone, and I do mean everyone, Mis Granger." Albus gave a pointed look.

Hermione nodded again.

"And three, you must ensure that your past self never, and I repeat, never sees you. It will lead to a paradox, and we do not want that."

Hermione bobbed her head instantly.

Dumbledore paused. "Since we have reached an accord, Miss Granger, shall we proceed to the oath?"

* * *

 **June 13, 1994.**

Albus Dumbledore was absolutely fuming. Once again, he congratulated himself at being able to look at seemingly unconnected events and deduce logical patterns among them, a skill that had served him well through the years. Muggles called it 'being a deductive genius', although the description failed to do justice to the skill. One of the benefits of being a Level Seven Occlumens was the creation of an extremely stable mind-palace with an information-recall ability second to none. This was the closest anyone had ever come to Total Memory Recall.

He had spent a few hours connecting several random events comprising of the vanishing hippogriff, a powerful Patronus and Sirius Black broke out of Flitwick's office; events which had occurred within the span of three hours. It was far too serendipitous to be called a coincidence. Plus, the act of two innocent lives being saved from execution was certainly a hard-earned victory.

Since the Time-Turner had been blood-locked to Hermione Granger, he had sent her and Harry back in time to complete the tasks he knew they would and had waited patiently while distracting Cornelius from noticing anything was amiss. Not that it was a difficult feat to accomplish. Cornelius had the attention span of a fish if gold or favors were not involved.

It truly was one of his more brilliant ideas, if he might be allowed to say so.

Albus took a moment to bask in his success before his mind turned towards the more obscure, and infinitely more dangerous plot that was brewing right underneath his nose all year.

Someone had been manipulating events to ensure the dementors were stationed at Hogwarts and then did everything they could to make sure their target would be killed in a manner that would place the blame on the abominations. That, someone, had manipulated the Ministry to such a degree that any attempts by Albus to have them removed failed spectacularly.

The silver lining found in the entire situation was that Sirius was proven innocent in the matters of betrayal and young Harry now had his godfather, at least in a limited manner.

Albus was guilty of the fact that he had deliberately, and with forethought, ensured that an innocent man was sent to Azkaban while a disgusting traitor was allowed to roam free under his nose. The latter grated on his nerves more than the former. But his anger at himself did not stop him from recognizing the true nature of the events.

After their unauthorized entry into the grounds during the Quidditch match, Albus had ordered the dementors to stay outside the boundaries of the school and had made his point clear by incinerating two dozen of their lot.

Someone or something had compelled to come into the grounds when Sirius and Harry had entered the Forbidden Forest, and they were alone and cut off from all aid. He found it highly suspicious that the dark abominations were able to track Sirius when the man was so close to the castle and they were on the boundaries.

Albus had spent hours trying to fit the pieces together. As the last piece fell into place, he felt a blizzard flow across his spine.

The dementors were not there to kill Sirius Black. They were there to kill Harry Potter.

It explained everything. The first attack on the train, the Quidditch match and now the lake… There were too many coincidences. Someone had tried to kill Harry, the subject of not one but two prophecies.

The good thing about the manipulation was the sheer skill, resources, knowledge, and power required to manipulate an entire government and dementors narrowed the list of suspects to a manageable number. The problem was none of the names were people he could talk to without creating an international incident or starting a war.

If he did not already suspect the Council, Albus might have considered Azazel to be his prime suspect for that person, whoever he or she was, was certainly capable of the feat. But from what his former mentors and everyone in the know had been able to tell him, Azazel had never endangered children. It did not fit his normal modus operandi.

The Council on the other hand…

Albus grit his teeth. He would need to secure even more protections for the boy. Perhaps if he-

 _No! It is too early._

The mage frowned at his indecision. Leaning on the windowsill, he stared at the part of the Forbidden Forest where the light of Harry's Patronus had shone with the brightness of the sun.

Before Remus left the school due to Severus's grudge, Albus had spoken to the man regarding the lessons he gave Harry. That, together with the light Legilimency scans of the boy's memories, had provided him with a clear picture of what had occurred.

Remus had spent months training Harry only for the boy to barely manage a shield which, according to the former Defence professor, was about the same size and shape as the one he used to save Harry on the train.

Albus had felt a migraine at the explanation. Not only was Remus ignorant about the right method to teach Harry – a fact that could not be remedied without serious repercussions - he also did not understand the true requirements to cast the Patronus.

So, how on earth did Harry Potter cast a corporeal Patronus? The only way he could be to witness the spell being cast and the person who had cast it was his future self…

Of course! Albus cursed himself for missing the solution. He was well aware of the boy's Origin and his status as an incarnation. He had spent years trying to learn as much as he could about the art of Projection; he had never before encountered a magecraft about which so little was known. But there were pieces out there, references to a rather queer term known as _'Synchronicity'_. From what he could gather, it was a phenomenon in which a magus could pick up skills from those who were extremely, closely related to him through means of magic that was yet to be understood.

There were a few cases where twins were found to be equally proficient in the arts the other specialized in. In one highly documented incident, a nine-year-old sorcerer was able to cast spells that her mother had not used in decades. Furious research into the matter for centuries had revealed a highly obscure piece of magic tied such people together on a scale that was unprecedented.

Scholars of esoteric lore had long since theorized that encountering our future selves might result in a 'Synchronicity' event that might allow us to obtain knowledge that would usually take decades. Although, any attempts at traveling to the future had seen the individuals cast into a void from which they had yet to return if they ever would.

But Harry had seen his future self before traveling into the past. During that single moment where Harry had witnessed himself casting a fully corporeal Patronus charm, a synchronicity event must have occurred that transferred the knowledge to himself which later allowed him to project the spell.

 _A projection… of a projection. Is that… is that even possible?_

It did not matter. Whether such a thing was possible or not, Harry Potter had cast a fully corporeal Patronus. The boy had pushed so much power through the spell that, for a few minutes, the Forbidden forest had lit up with the brightness of the sun.

The fact that Harry could ooze that much power despite the blood wards and the limiters placed on the boy made Albus shiver in excitement and, to a certain extent, fear. Harry Potter could not be allowed to go over to the Dark Side, Albus could not allow it to occur although a vindictive part of him could not help but smile at the fact that the Council was pushing the boy onto the very path they wished him to avoid.

With a look of absolute determination, Albus Dumbledore sat down to plot.

* * *

 **September 4, 1994**

"Ah, Alastor. Come on in." Albus replied from his high backed chair behind the Headmaster's desk.

The paranoid ex-Auror walked into the Headmaster's office as the door closed behind him, his replacement electric blue eye spinning wildly. He walked straight to the chair that Albus did not indicate towards and plonked himself on the comfortable seat. "You needed me for something, Albus?"

Albus noticed the way the man continued to evade eye contact. It had been an ongoing theme since after the dustbin incident which Arthur had resolved by confounding and obliviating the muggle policemen who had become involved in the matter.

After that incident, during their meetings, Albus had noticed the man twitch at sounds and other people more than usual but he had chalked it up to the fact that he was spooked in his own home. There were periods where the man had been far more paranoid than usual. The Headmaster even remembered an incident where the man had refused to have noodles in a perfectly random noodle stall because the green shreds of the broth looked like solidified snake venom.

Albus would have shaken his head and dismissed the matter if the behavior had not persisted and then there was the odd quirk where Moody would lick his outer lip with a flick of his tongue. He had never seen it before.

Questions had to wait as Hogwarts, and the Ministry was preparing for the Triwizard Tournament and the arrival of the contingents from the other two schools, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute in less than two months. With Barty Crouch running around trying to ensure the Ministry was prepared for the event and Ludo Bagman doing his very best job at being the most incompetent Ministry Head Albus had ever seen – and that was saying something – there was no time to question his friend regarding the new behavior.

Then the Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup occurred and Albus was forced to talk to the ICW and the representatives of France and Bulgaria to help continue a tournament he had vehemently fought against, and the remainder of August had passed in a blur before the first day of the term began.

But the past three days of interactions with his friend Alastor made Albus realize on undeniable fact: This was not the real Alastor Moody. His extremely low levels of paranoia, his incessant need to lick his outer lips and the eye which constantly spun in erratic turns when the real Alastor preferred to keep the eye pointed to the left and just below eye contact with another person.

The imposter's casual demeanor did nothing to hide his incessantly curious looks towards the books and artifacts that littered the office for decades. In many ways, it reminded him of the expected behavior of a Ravenclaw. Combined with that strange quirk of his tongue, Albus felt a niggling in his mind as to the identity of the man but he could not put his finger on it.

The previous day, Albus had visited the imposter in his quarters and the faint smell of lacewing flies hit his nostrils. From there, he had concluded the imposter was definitely using Polyjuice Potion. Since the potion needed samples from a live being, it meant that Alastor was being kept close at hand, probably in the multi-compartment trunk he had noticed in the far corner of the circular room.

All of those events had led to this moment. Albus had invited the imposter so that the threat if needed, could be neutralized in a private setting without risking either the students or the staff

"Alastor," He replied slowly, gauging the reaction to his words, "I need you to teach the students about the Unforgivables."

Instantly, 'Alastor Moody' looked up at him, gnarled lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a frown. "Unforgivables, Albus? I would have pegged you to be the last person to ask such a thing, and from a washed up paranoid bastard like me."

Albus put on an air of concern, "We both know the Dark Lord is rising again, Alastor." He noticed the imposter smother a smile. "War is coming, whether we like it or not. The students need to be prepared. As much I hate to ask this, they need to know. I am sorry, old friend."

"A'right." The imposter replied gruffly. "You've got a point. But ya think the lads and lasses might be the same after I show them?"

Albus nodded, as he considered the question. "I understand your concern, Alastor. But the students need to be prepared for what awaits them should Voldemort rise."

The imposter suppressed a flinch at the name. Nodding, he pulled his private flask and drank what Albus knew was Polyjuice.

"Very well, Alastor. That will be all. I suppose I will give a visit to your defense classes as well."

"Night, Albus." The imposter stood up and walked three steps towards the door when the voice of Albus floated from his back.

"Alastor, remember our discussion at the grounds of the World Cup?"

The imposter did not tense at the unexpected question as he wracked his brain for a clue. "What about it, Albus?"

There was a smile in the Headmaster's voice. "Don't forget that Polyjuice has a shelf life of three weeks."

The imposter's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he spun around with unexpected grace and tried to draw his wand only for a flash of red to inundate his entire world.

* * *

 **Halloween, 1994.**

Albus Dumbledore could not believe what he was seeing. The burnt slip of parchment should not have appeared at all with a name that should have been in the Goblet of Fire at all after the precautions placed to ensure that Voldemort's plan did not come to pass.

After he had stunned and legilimized the imposter whose identity had come as a surprise to Albus, he had obliviated and memory charmed Barty Crouch Junior to prevent him from noticing anything was amiss. After all, if your enemy did not realize you were onto him, why give away your hand? It would ensure that he could control any changes that Voldemort might choose to implement and help prevent Harry from being in more danger than was necessary.

He had checked the Riddle Manor at Little Hangleton, but other than a few traces of dark magic and the signs of a Horcrux, there was nothing in the house, and any apparition tracks were too eroded to properly track their destinations.

Since then, he had done everything he possibly could to ensure that the Goblet was as secure. There were wards placed around the ancient artifact that prevented any ghosts or wraiths from being able to approach it. He did leave a small gap in the security to ensure that Crouch Junior could execute his doomed-to-fail plan, an opening that Junior had taken without much hesitation or thought.

Albus had to stifle a chuckle at watching the fake Moody walk into a trap that the real Alastor would have first checked in thirty different ways before creating his own opening to do his deed.

For the past twenty-four hours, the Headmaster had rested easy, knowing that Harry was now safe from the machinations of the Dark Lord. But now…

"Harry Potter." Albus croaked. Composing himself, his keen-eyed gaze shifted at the boy seated at the Gryffindor table. A part of his mind could not help but point out that for once in his life, Harry was not involved in the situation because he and his friends had chosen to involve themselves.

But there was no way that Barty Crouch Junior could have executed his plan to perfection. There simply was no chance of him accomplishing the task with Albus watching his every move. Maybe… Maybe, the boy had asked an older student to throw his name in – Albus was sure he had not placed a ward to detect such a move and the Goblet did not care about the age of the participants. The Triwizard Tournament was an extremely prestigious event where merely being chosen as one of the champions would ensure that people noticed you. The boy might have been egged on by one of his friends, probably Ronald Weasley, into participating and, as he had for the past three years, must acquiesce to their wishes.

 _That must be it. That has to be it._

He observed the boy's reaction. Harry Potter seemed just as stunned as the rest of the student body who were now staring at him with various emotions. Harry himself seemed to be torn between surprise and… fear?

 _Please… let it be that… Harry. Please…_

Albus cleared his throat, nodded towards Minerva and called out, "Harry. Up here, if you please!"

Ignoring the rest of the Great Hall, Albus followed the boy into the ante-chamber, where the other three champions were waiting. Unfortunately, Maxime, Karkaroff and the imposter just had to intervene at that moment to play twenty questions.

"Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools." Karkaroff continued his spiel angrily.

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Severus spoke softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —"

"Thank you, Severus," said Albus firmly, cutting the man's rant. He had eyes for only one person in the entire room.

Excusing himself, he strode forward towards the emerald-eyed boy, his Legilimency in full effect. "Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked calmly.

 _Please say yes…. Please say yes…_

Harry clearly denied the accusation, the truth confirmed through a light Legilimency probe.

Ignoring the snorts from the other champions, Maxime, Karkaroff and the impatient snarl from Severus, Albus asked, "Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?"

"No!" Harry denied vehemently.

Albus closed his eyes at the truth. He had been out-played once again.

He tried very hard to compose himself as the accusations and expressions of outrage erupted in the rage. They were a bunch of bloody hypocrites. Not only were they accusing a fourteen-year-old of cheating wards placed by an extremely powerful mage, they were accusing the most famous and one of the richest wizards alive of trying to steal the spotlight and the rewards of the Tournament. Fools parading as Heads of Institutions…

Maxime was always quick to anger and spells. Granted, she had suffered under heavy bias due to her status as a half-giant but it did not excuse her from not being above the very things she was accused of. Her highly impetuous nature had allowed her to secure her position as the Headmistress but it had cost her far too much. It was a wonder that the French government had not sacked her yet.

Karkaroff was a Death Eater who had sold out his comrades in the hopes of escaping his sentencing. It was the only way he could as he was neither of Noble lineage or did he once occupy a powerful position in government. The fool had left Britain and sought refuge with the Bulgarian Battle-Mage Guild and later, the Durmstrang Institute. The man had not set foot on British soil in twelve years yet now, the same coward brazenly spoke of treachery. Why Alastor chose to capture the man instead of killing him… He would ask his friend once the situation was resolved.

Staring at the group as they continued to bicker, Albus suppressed a snort at the theory of a Confundus charm hoodwinking the Goblet, and the rest of the Heads and Ministry officials considering it.

The Confundus charm was designed to sow confusion in living beings and objects, true. But it was not capable of affecting those with sufficient willpower who could shake it off or objects whose innate magical strength or complexity rendered the charm useless.

And the Goblet of Fire was not a weak artifact. There was a reason it was stored in the most secure vaults in the Alexandrian Archives of the ICW. Members of the Illusionists Guild had found the wooden artifact over two millennia ago in the crumbling ruins of a tower in eastern Siberia from where it was transferred to the Runemasters Guild for study. After two centuries of study, it was concluded that the Goblet was some kind of impartial adjudicator used by an extinct civilization to judge champions; of what kind was still up for debate. The Runenmeisters, also known as Rune Masters, from the Guild had discovered the control schema of the ancient artifact etched into interlocking pieces of wood along the surface coated with a material that the most accomplished Artificers of the age were hard-pressed to identify.

Once the Masters from the Guilds understood the nature of the artifact, but not its origins, it was placed in highly secure vaults until it was needed. When the Three Great Schools of Europe had decided to create the Triwizard Tournament, they had asked the ICW to provide an impartial judge at which point it was decided that the Goblet of Fire would, under the directions of a Master Artificer, serve as the adjudicator for the competition, and it has stayed that way since.

And these fools thought such an artifact could be hoodwinked by a child? Albus wondered if he should end the façade of the imposter at the moment. However, on reflection, it was not a wise move. Voldemort would realize he knew all the information given to Barty Crouch and the game would no longer be safe for Harry.

At the moment, Albus knew one thing for certain. Someone, and he had a very good idea of the party responsible, was playing all her cards. The contracts created by the Goblet of Fire were unbreakable. There was no, absolutely no way to get Harry Potter out of the Triwizard Tournament.

A tournament that was infamous for getting its champions killed.

"Well played," he muttered sarcastically inside his head, as he walked away, leaving Ludo Bagman to deal with the useless details of what the champions could expect.

When Perenelle Flamel was the pulling the shots, the idea of expecting anything was a foolish mistake.

"I have to look into the details of the contract." He decided, "Harry Potter must survive, no matter the cost."

* * *

 **June 24, 1995.**

"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry spoke like he lived outside the experience. "He said the protection my — my mother left me — he'd have it too. And he was right — he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."

Albus Dumbledore allowed himself a tiny fraction of a second to treasure the success of his plan. When Barty Crouch Junior had revealed, under Imperius, that Voldemort planned to use Harry's blood for the resurrection ritual, he had contacted some of his more… unsavory contacts to find the details of possible resurrection rituals that involved the blood of an enemy or child.

The aid given by the Necromancer's Guild, alongside the help of a certain shaman from the west coast of Africa, had given him an excellent understanding of the results that might arise from Voldemort using the blood of Harry to power his resurrection ritual.

They could not have been more pleasing.

When Voldemort used the blood of his enemy, the Dark Lord had unwittingly anchored Harry to live. The Dark Lord did not realize that the resurrection ritual employed by him was an incomplete Horcrux ritual that would tie the subject of the resurrection to his enemy whose blood was employed. In this case, the ritual would bind the Dark Lord to the Horcrux as it was more closely related to him than Harry Potter ever was, despite their shared ancestry.

Never in his life had Albus thanked the Root more than he did at that moment.

With the bond between the two now strengthened to such a powerful degree, any soul magic affecting Harry would have far greater effects on the Horcrux in him. It also meant that the next time Voldemort's Killing curse struck Harry, the boy would be able to destroy the Horcrux present in him. There was the tiny chance that the boy might die, but after the events of tonight, Albus was more than confident that Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, was up to the task.

Harry had not only lived with a Horcrux, an abomination that was capable of corrupting things in terrifying ways, for years, the boy had also been part of the enemy's resurrection ritual which would ensure Harry's survival. Looking at the events objectively, one would think that even Death itself refused to let the boy walk into the 'next great adventure'.

 _What could be more fitting for the descendant of the Master of Death?_

However, this was not the right time to tell Harry. Too many ears and far too much attention was now on the boy. There was time yet.

"Very well," Albus replied, sitting down in the chair opposite Harry, his occlumentic barriers and emotional dampeners hiding his true thoughts and feelings. "Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please."

Harry went on; he explained how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, and told them all he could remember of Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters. Then he told how Voldemort had untied him, returned his wand to him, and prepared to duel.

But Albus was no longer listening to Harry. Well, not to his words anyway. He was using the full extent of his skills in legilimency on the boy, feasting upon the memories of his mindscape, a task made harder by the highly unstructured nature of the boy's mindscape.

He was helped by the boy's narration as it brought the memories to the forefront of his mind. He watched with such fascination that, for a few moments, he had slipped into the psyche of Harry; it was a mistake he had to correct a few times. He witnessed the strange golden beam of light and the souls – No, imprints of the people emerge from Voldemort's wand. The sheer impossibility of the situation had boggled his senses. It was a very good thing that his Occlumency was quite excellent because he was sure that he would otherwise be jumping for joy.

"The wands connected?" Sirius asked, looking from Harry to Albus. "But why?"

Shaken out of his musings, Albus affected an arrested look. "Priori Incantatem." He muttered slowly and saw a flash of understanding pass through Harry. He was extremely curious about that.

"The reverse-spell effect?" Sirius exclaimed sharply.

"Exactly," said Albus. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This Phoenix, in fact," He added, and pointed at the scarlet-and-gold bird, perching peacefully on Harry's knee.

"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry said, amazed.

"Yes," Albus nodded. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."

"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" Sirius asked.

"They will not work properly against each other," Albus paused for a moment. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle… a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first... and then those which preceded it."

He stared at Harry's face as if gazing into the boy's soul to confirm his understanding of the situation. He had not lied to the boy and his godfather. Priori Incantatem was the reverse-spell effect and the stronger of the two wands would force the other into a battle of wills.

However, he had omitted an important and obscure piece of wandlore that was known only to a handful of individuals. For True Priori Incantatem to occur between brother wands, the spells cast must be of equal power and of the same nature i.e. the spells must be the same.

That was the issue Albus currently faced. On one hand, the Priori Incantatem effect had cleared occurred during the battle in the graveyard. Harry's memories did not lie and the boy was not yet capable of Occlumency to create false memories. On the other, the boy had cast an Experlliarmus of all things at a Killing Curse.

The Disarming charm against one of the most powerful pieces of ritualistic soul magic, to initiate Priori Incantatem among brother wands…

Since when did the Disarming charm become equivalent in nature, effect, and power to a Killing curse, especially one cast by Voldemort?

It was an anomaly that Albus was hard pressed to explain. There was no possible way that two completely different spells had linked the brother wands. It was just not possible.

Sure, there were a few cases where a weaker spell had overpowered a stronger one by dint of pure power. Albus had read of such instances during his apprenticeship at the Battle-Transfiguration Guild. However, none of those cases involved the Killing Curse and they certainly did not cause Priori Incantatem.

 _By Merlin! How did Harry Potter invoke the brother wand effect? It is just not possible, not unless the spell was re-transfigured mid-cast. And the only way Harry would even learn the skill-_

Blue eyes imperceptibly widened. Was it possible?

Did Harry's innate art of Projection transfigure his Disarming charm into the Killing Curse? Just like the Halloween night of 1981…?

It was the first time Albus had truly witnessed what Projection was capable of. The ability to counterfeit an opponent's magic and cast it back… no wonder the Council was so fearful. If Harry ever came in contact with Family Magic, or worse… True Magic…. He shuddered at the idea.

"Which means," Albus continued his explanation to the audience before him. "That some form of Cedric must have appeared.

"Diggory came back to life?" said Sirius sharply.

"No spell can reawaken the dead," Albus replied heavily. Not even the fabled resurrection stone, the one artifact he had coveted for years after Ariana's death until the true nature of the Hallows was revealed to him. "All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand… am I correct, Harry?"

"He spoke to me," Harry said. He was suddenly shaking again. "The… the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."

"An echo," said Albus. "Which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared… less recent victims of Voldemort's wand…"

"An old man," Harry said, his throat still constricted. "Bertha Jorkins. And…"

"Your parents?" Albus muttered quietly. It was not a question.

"Yes," Harry answered. Sirius's grip on Harry's shoulder was now so tight it was painful.

"The last murders the wand performed," Albus agreed, nodding. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, and these shadows… what did they do?"

Harry described how the figures that had emerged from the wand had prowled the edges of the golden web, how Voldemort had seemed to fear them, how the shadow of Harry's father had told him what to do, how Cedric's had made its final request.

At this point, Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands. Harry suddenly became aware that Fawkes had left his knee. The Phoenix had fluttered to the floor. It was resting its beautiful head against Harry's injured leg, and thick, pearly tears were falling from its eyes onto the wound left by the spider. The pain vanished. The skin mended. His leg was repaired.

"I will say it again," Albus intoned as the phoenix rose into the air and resettled itself upon the perch on the desk. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers." A pity that the Council is too stuck in their ways to understand the meaning of your actions. "You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it —and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace… Sirius, would you like to stay with him?"

Sirius nodded and stood up. He transformed back into the great black dog and walked with Albus and Harry out of the office, accompanying them down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

A day later, Albus found himself seated in his office with Fawkes singing a song. The entire course of events over the past twenty-four hours had been highly illuminating and enlightening.

He had played a rather high-risk game this year. It had taken every ounce of his legendary control to allow the imposter to roam around Hogwarts and teach the students; not to mention get close to Harry. In those moments when Junior was alone with Harry, Albus did everything he could to prevent himself from blasting the Death Eater to pieces.

Cornelius had been a completely useless entity this year and had ensured that news of Voldemort's resurrection would not get out into the open by killing Junior with a dementor. Lucius was definitely involved in the matter as Cornelius was far too spineless to take such a decision on his own terms.

Junior's death was both a blessing and a curse. It would hide Albus' manipulations in the matter but the danger of not letting the populace realize the Dark Lord has far outweighed the gain.

 _I should have placed wards around Junior's room._

Voldemort would work in the shadows until he was once again at the height of his magical ability. Based on his research, Albus knew that his new body would take several months to reach full maturity, time that Voldemort would use to consolidate his hold on the Ministry through his supporters while hiring dark creatures, washed out witches and wizards and mercenaries to bolster his army.

Albus did feel quite a twinge of guilt over the matter but quickly squelched. As much as he had hated becoming an accomplice in Voldemort's resurrection, it had been a necessary evil, since there were no other means of getting the Horcrux removed from the boy.

What did he care if several nameless and faceless people died, if Harry Potter could live his life, for once? At the very least, he owed the boy that much.

* * *

 **June 27, 1995.**

" _Conflagratius calamitatis!"_

A shaft of dazzling bright red light shot out of the tip of the Elder wand, tore through the wards and struck the walls of the Flamel Mansion with such force that the land surrounding the mansion shook for several hundred meters.

The shaft had struck the light blue walls of the second floor and exploded inwards, tearing through the powerful protections cast on the stones. The bright red flames that erupted began to swim across the entire floor as the windows shattered from the heat.

In a matter of a few minutes, the entire mansion burning in a mixture of green and ruby flames as many of the ingredients stores in the basement that mixed with the magical fire.

Albus Dumbledore was not worried about the couple who resided within. Contrary to popular belief, the Flamels did not reside in a mansion warded above and beyond the most secure buildings of the ICW. Rather, they had several houses around the world which they lived depending on their fancy. Even the well-known mansion of the Flamels, the one that he had just burned down, was surrounded by wards strong enough to give them a few moments to quickly escape. He had once questioned his former mentors on the matter when Nicholas answered, "If someone is either foolish, brave or powerful enough to attack your position with full knowledge of the defenses, it would not do to be cibles faciles, a sitting duck. Much better to let your enemy think they have won and stabbed them in the back before they realize what has occurred."

The two shadows walked towards him still proved that his mentors had not changed their mind regarding defense, their fierce aura radiating brightly. While it was true that both Flamels were weaker in terms of power compared to himself, a measure of raw strength did not truly matter when faced with the experience and knowledge of the legendary Flamels.

"Albus," The stern voice of Nicholas Flamel floated up to him, as his old eyes saw the figures fade and then appear before him.

Just as expected, both of them were without a scratch, though the shock of the unexpected attack had shaken them to some extent, though Albus believed it was the identity of the man who had just assaulted their home.

"Nicholas," Albus whispered, his eyes trained on the couple before him. Nicholas had an odd expression on his face. Perenelle however, looked positively murderous.

"What is the meaning of this, Albus Dumbledore?" Nicholas replied with nary an inflection in his voice. Albus recognized it as his mentor's 'Give me the answer I seek or you rot in hell' voice.

"A rather small… example of what is to come, should you and your… wife continue down the path you are walking."

Perenelle stayed deadly silent, staring at him with cold daggers of rage.

"What… are you insinuating?" Nicholas questioned his former protégé.

"The Goblet of Fire. It chose Harry Potter as the fourth contestant." Albus answered, "And contrary to what everyone thinks, the Goblet isn't a souvenir that any wannabe Dark Lord can confound at a moment's notice."

"I fail to see your point, Albus," Nicholas replied, a confused expression lingering on his face.

Albus's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Over a year ago, Harry Potter is targeted by an entire horde of dementors; not once, not twice, but thrice through the course of a single year. Last Halloween, his name is selected by the Goblet for a tournament that only those-of-age could enter. Ring any bells?"

Nicholas opened his mouth, but Perenelle beat him to it. "And what of it?" She sneered. "The boy is an abomination, and was supposed to be destroyed in the first place."

Nicholas glanced at his wife sharply but said nothing.

"So you accept that you did it." Albus eyed her dangerously. "And now, your attempt to kill the boy has aided the resurrection of Voldemort."

Perenelle Flamel could not hold her emotions in check upon hearing the news. Her eyes widened and lips parted in shock at the words.

"Resurrected?" Nicholas whispered, a curious look in his eyes. "But would it not-"

Albus interrupted his mentor with carefully chosen words. "Fortunately, he has chosen to build his new physical form using the bone of his father, the flesh of his servant and the blood of his enemy, Harry Potter." He gestured towards Perenelle. "I believe Lady Flamel would understand the significance."

Perenelle clenched her fingers and stared at Albus with narrowed eyes in silence as Nicholas glanced towards her

Albus scowled at her refusal to comment on the matter. He knew she knew the possible results but her adamant refusal to acknowledge the fact drove him mad. "The ritual has ensured that Harry is now anchored to life. Soon, he shall be free of the Horcrux forever. Perhaps then, you will stop looking at him like the arrival of the apocalypse."

"You are still… obstinate over your decision to protect the boy, Albus Dumbledore?" Perenelle asked.

"We would not be having this discussion otherwise, Lady Flamel," Albus replied coolly. "With the return of Voldemort, there are far too many matters that require my attention, the safety of Harry being my number one priority. I have people to meet, forces to assemble and treaties to enforce."

"I suggest you give up your fascination for Le Grand Guignol and leave Harry Potter alone. He is a teenager who has just witnessed the death of his fellow competitor and the return of the monster responsible for the death of his parents. Do not touch him."

Perenelle arched an eyebrow. "Is that all, or do you have any more… demonstrations as to what would happen should anyone cross the great Albus Dumbledore?"

Albus smiled. "Nothing like that, my lady Flamel. This… inferno is merely a… representation of what you and your Council shall heap upon the world should you continue down your path."

Perenelle observed him silently.

"Noted." She spoke at last. "You may leave."

* * *

 **August 13, 1995.**

Albus stood in front of the fireplace in his office, staring at the green flames and the man visible in it. "Do you understand what I need, Fabian?"

"I… do." Fabian seemed hesitant for a while before he nodded. "However," he tilted his head slightly, "I have a… query."

"Go ahead."

"This… Potter boy... he has been attacked by Dementors, previously, right?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Third year, yes."

"And they repeatedly made an attempt on him, and only him, during the course of that year?"

"Yes."

Fabian made a mental note of that statement. "You should know, Professor, that ever since her appointment, Dolores Umbridge has been in charge of any and all matters related to the security of the realm that passes through the Minister's office. It appears that she has been taking an extreme interest in foreign arrivals and departures and has been sending the ICW requests regarding the settlements of Vampires and Werewolves."

Albus sighed. It looked like Voldemort was moving far too quickly. During the last war, Voldemort had not chosen to use the creatures of the dark until the latter half of the war. "I shall have to step up my efforts."

Fabian nodded. "And there have been rumors about the Warden's family being stalked by certain… entities."

Albus shook his head. Problems always arrived at the most difficult of times. "Noted. How is Project Nova coming along?"

Fabian pursed his lips, considering what to say. "It has been… difficult. The Council agents have been strange… reluctant to talk about him, and the records in the Vaults of Fabulinus are currently out of our reach."

It seemed that Fate had dealt him a bad hand of cards. "Your personal thoughts on the matter?"

Fabian hesitated. "I do not believe the man is evil. He has saved a lot of lives over the years. Beyond the complaints of the ICW regarding his nonchalant display of defiance, he is not the threat people believe him to be. That said, I do perceive a sense of chaos in the events surrounding him. It all seems like one huge game but, according to those who know him, the man is simply a child in an adult's body. Best guess, he is either playing a long game that nobody can understand, or he is merely fond of pulling pranks on powerful organizations."

"Someone after your own heart then, Fabian?" Albus smiled in amusement.

Fabian did not deign to return the comment.

"Very well, carry on with your duties. I believe that, with Akingbade at the helm, things have been quite difficult."

An undecipherable expression resided on Fabian.

"Very well." With a sigh, Dumbledore shut off the Floo connection, as he returned back to his chair.

* * *

 **May 27, 1996.**

"Harry… That is the plan which I wish to execute and outlined to the best of my ability. Do you have any questions about the strategy I just talked you through?"

Harry shook his head. Truth be told, his mind was still in a haze as he struggled to make sense of everything he was told and shown. There were entire pieces of the story he had barely understood and doubted he would any time in the near future. Frankly, it all sounded like one of those novels Hermione had forced on him after his third year.

But the sombre state of the Headmaster during the entire explanation removed any illusions he had regarding the truth and, for the first time, he started at Albus Dumbledore and saw neither the most powerful wizard of their era or the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but the man who had done his very best to ensure an orphaned child could live. He saw the man who had given up everything he had to give that child as normal and happy a life he possibly could.

Harry looked at Dumbledore and wondered if this was what his parents or grandparents would do for him if they could. The old wizard had accepted the full weight of his decisions and had lived their consequences. Sure, there were cases where Harry wished to throttle the man, especially in his treatment of Hermione as a test subject for a highly experimental and dangerous invention but he did understand the reasons. At least, he thought he did.

Harry would probably never forgive the man for all he did, but he did try to understand the reasons behind the decisions taken.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt far too light. He had shied away from the truth for so long that whenever the chance came by, he had done his very best to avoid it. He was afraid, afraid that the knowledge he gained would be outweighed by the sheer weight of responsibilities and expectations that would be placed on his shoulders.

What he had not expected was the feeling of utter relief upon learning the truth. There were no responsibilities heaped on his shoulders, no expectations placed on his existence. For once, Harry felt that he could do anything he wanted, be anything he wanted.

Of course, there was the pesky matter of the Council and their manipulations but he would deal with them in time.

And the voice of his teacher brought Harry back to reality.

Albus Dumbledore stood at his fullest height, his turquoise robes glittering in the light of the late evening sun. "Understand this, Harry… this is not something that can be undone. Once you choose to walk this path, there is no going back. If there is even the _slightest_ hesitation in your thoughts… if you are unsure… even a _moment of indecision_ can bring unfathomed harm to your person. Once you proceed, you shall no longer be Harry Potter."

Sky blue eyes glinted with hints of madness as Albus gave Harry a pointed look, turned towards the table, picked up an oddly angled box the size of his palm and held it towards Harry. "As your magical guardian, I took the initiative of retrieving this item from your Family vault from Gringotts." His gaze briefly switched to the box and returned to Harry. He wet his lips and spoke in a grave tone, "Harry Potter shall not remain any longer. From this day forth, you shall be known as Harry Peverell."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Additions to our Roster:**

 **FABIAN – STEPHEN CAMPBELL MOORE**

 **NICHOLAS FLAMEL – EDWARD AKROUT**

 **PERENELLE FLAMEL – VERONICA FERRES**

 **SAMUEL THURINGEN – YIGAL NAOR**


	4. Chapter 3

****AN (added on 25/04/2018 IST) :The chapter was edited to include certain explanations of events previously ignored. Also, considerable efforts have been given to decrease what might have appeared as Ron- or Ginny-bashing.****

* * *

 **May 30, 1996.**

Over the past two days, the oldest magical school in Britain had become host to a large number of officials from the Ministry of Magic. Fudge, the various Heads of Departments – minus Amelia Bones, Director of the DMLE - Senior and Junior clerks, secretaries and dozens of Ministry workers had occupied the unused rooms on both the upper and lower floors of Hogwarts, using them as both living spaces and makeshift offices due to the immense level of preparation that the event occurring today necessitated. Posted at the gates were a large number of aurors and hit-wizards; they were also directed to patrol the expansive grounds and long corridors of the school.

Many parents had hurried their sons or daughters away from the school over the past two days leaving less than half the student population still occupying the dormitories. The Patil Twins and Su Li had been taken by their parents straight from the Great Hall without so much as an advance intimation or even a word to the teachers. Known families of the blood supremacist movement championed by Voldemort had quickly removed their children although – a matter quite strange to the rest of the school – over half of Slytherin house had elected to stay. Seamus and his mother had a screaming match in the middle of the Entrance Hall, a fight that only subsided when his mother consented to him staying until the event. Katie Bell and her parents had an extremely loud _talk_ in the middle of a school corridor before she was forcibly dragged from the school by her father. McLaggen, Jordan, Turpin, Abbott, Macmillan and several other students had fought to stay at school while many of their parents found lodgings in the now heavily guarded village of Hogsmeade. Quite a number of students had packed their luggage, given their Heads of Houses an advance notice and immediately left with their parents or guardians while those who had earned their apparition license had simply walked out of the gates.

To Harry, it appeared that the entirety of Wizarding Britain had gone bonkers.

Albus Dumbledore was dead, and the entire magical world shook with the impact; said impact was felt quite sharply by the British Ministry of Magic.

After the events of the last task of the Triwizard tournament and the death of Hogwarts student and champion, Cedric Diggory, the Ministry had quite loudly proclaimed that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived were inciting mass panic and hysteria by falsely claiming the Dark Lord had returned from the dead. The movement against two of the most famous people in Wizarding Britain was spearheaded by Fudge and Amos Diggory; a movement that had quickly gained traction among the Dark faction, the neutral faction and a few members of the light. Fudge had sought to try to prove that the claims were false by directing the Daily Prophet to publish slander against the old man and the teenager.

Sensationalist reporter Rita Skeeter had vilified the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived through defamatory articles and copious amounts of slander in her social column. She had spent months digging through every inch of their lives she could and presenting their past actions in such a skewed light that the public believed that the defeater of Grindelwald had gone barmy and the Boy-Who-Lived was a self-aggrandising, arrogant, lying teenager rumoured to be an up and coming Dark Lord by many of his fellow students.

But everything changed fifteen days ago.

Ever since the ' _Battle of the Department of Mysteries_ ' - as the Prophet was calling it - had taken place, the Minister was facing a public clamouring for his blood and the current administration under his command were being blamed for displaying incompetence, focusing on petty concerns and, most importantly, for their utter denials about the truth of the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort. In light of the Dark Lord's return, the Daily Prophet was publishing articles vilifying the entire Fudge administration with claims of corruption and treachery as Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were held as the ' _Paragons of Truth in a time of darkness_ ' and the Boy-Who-Lived as the ' _lone voice of truth… perceived to be unbalanced yet never wavered in his belief_ '.

There were calls by several of the Noble Houses and the citizens of Wizarding Britain for Albus Dumbledore to be voted in for the position of Minister of Magic but the mage had respectfully declined the offer, citing his age and his belief in the country to fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort. Further attempts to convince the old headmaster were brought to an abrupt halt when the news of his death was announced, by the Hogwarts staff, to the Ministry who in turn, informed the Daily Prophet and, through the newspaper, the general population.

Thorough inquiries by the DMLE revealed that the Dark Lord Voldemort cast a fast-acting curse on the now deceased headmaster during their well-known battle in the remains of the Ministry atrium. The Hogwarts staff, both teachers and the medi-witch, provided identical statements to the aurors with a few extra details provided by the then deputy headmistress, now Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall. Every single one of them informed the investigators that Dumbledore informed the staff that he was both beyond saving and nothing anyone did could change that. Upon giving them that shocking piece of news, he then requested the staff to maintain the illusion that 'nothing was wrong' and to continue about their lives to prevent Voldemort or any of the Death Eaters from capitalising on what they believed to be an excellent opportunity. Furthermore, they informed the aurors on his frequent meetings with Harry Potter and Silas Morton, the solicitor of the House of Dumbledore, during the last days of his life. Details were sparse on the meetings, and when the investigating aurors tried to push Harry Potter for more information, they were soundly rebuffed by the teenager who sneered at them and refused to talk any further.

Once the hasty but thorough investigations were complete, the wizarding public still recovering from the shock caused by the news of the death of Albus Dumbledore due to Voldemort, the Fudge administration had quickly scrambled to organise a funeral for the man considered to be the greatest wizard of his generation. A request from the Hogwarts staff had the Ministry, with approval from the Hogwarts board of governors, organise the funeral and burial of the former Chief Warlock on the grounds of Hogwarts beside the Black Lake.

On the shores of the Black lake, a large conjured stone platform of proper height stood next to the brackish waters with a rectangular marble table and a podium situated on top. The entire conjuration was permanently stabilised by a runic scheme carved into the stone and connected to the ley lines running below the grounds.

Hundreds of low-backed chairs in semi-circular rows and divided by three wide aisles faced the conjured structure. Dozens of conjured bluebell flames, each one moulded to appear like a phoenix, flew gently over the entire arrangement.

Most of the chairs in the rows closest to the platform were already occupied by the people they were reserved for; the Ministry of Magic officials, Lords and Heirs of Houses, ICW Officials, Masters from the Seven Guilds and many associates who knew the deceased personally. Members of the Order of the Phoenix, the organisation responsible for a large portion of the victories against Voldemort's forces during the last war, stood near the platform, talking amongst themselves. Madam Maxime, who had arrived yesterday in the same carriage she had used in 1994, and a few officials from Beauxbatons and the French Ministry were seated in one of the foremost rows, talking to each other in hushed voices. The shop owners of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade too were present. Hogwarts students occupied the last rows of chairs, many of them sobbing or involved in heated discussions with their friends while the staff were directing the crowds milling about the grounds towards the venue. All of them wore the funeral attire of their respective cultures with the colours tending towards white, black or neutral shades.

Harry Potter stood at the balcony of the private quarters attached to the Office of the Headmaster, wearing a plain black suit under a black robe and staring at the sheer number of people attending the funeral. His hands gripped the guardrail tighter as his eyes fell on the white marble table on which the body of Albus Dumbledore would soon be placed.

Learning the truth about his life had, in ways he did not yet understand, set him free and shackled him in ways he did not think he would realise for some time. Albus Dumbledore… the man had revealed the truth of matters that Harry had ignored for a long time, clarified doubts plaguing him for years and spoke of things beyond Harry's comprehension.

Harry wanted to hated the man, he truly did. During their talk after the teen's attempt at suicide, the man had admitted to placing him with a family that he knew would not love the only son of their deceased relatives but would fear, scorn and treat him with the barest of humanity. He had then all but admitted the entire first year and fourth years of Harry's life at Hogwarts were a ploy to weaken or destroy Voldemort and Hermione was used a guinea pig to test a highly dangerous experimental device whose consequences were unknown to the inventors themselves. There were moments during the talk where he wanted to do nothing more than wring the neck of the ' _Greatest wizard of his age_ ' with his bare hands. He would have done the deed, if not for the naked emotion visible in the blue eyes of the dying mage.

The truth of the events leading to the death of the Headmaster were unknown to all but Harry who had barely spoken a few words to anyone since the incident. On the day he had died, Dumbledore had one last meeting with his staff – they were painfully aware of the death that would soon encroach the man – to discuss the reports of their current batch of students, any changes that were needed in the school and spent a few moments, in private, with each member of his staff offering his last words of advice.

Ron and Hermione were discharged by the Healers at Saint Mungo's, and had returned the day before yesterday to find, to their utmost shock, their beloved and crazy Headmaster had passed away. Already in a sombre mood, Ron had mostly withdrawn into himself while Dean and Seamus tried to break him out of his shell. Hermione… Hermione had hugged Harry for a few moments before launching into a flurry of questions about his well-being.

Emerald green eyes stared at the people seated or scurrying about the venue as aurors, hit-wizards, private bodyguards and ICW security personnel closed ranks around the Ministry officials and VIP's attending the funeral. He lips twisted into a frown at the view.

Over the course of the last year, most of these – _people_ – had been all too happy to ignore the blatant warning signs of Tom's return and now, they were running around like, as Vernon used to say, headless chickens trying their hardest to prevent an outcome that seemed all but inevitable. Over the past forty-eight hours, he had been approached by several Ministry officials including Fudge ask- _begging_ him to protect the wizarding world as per the _duties_ of the _Boy-Who-Lived_. He had managed to wrangle himself out of those situations without exploding like an erumpent horn at the sheer gall of those officials and absence of common sense among the country's so-called elite.

 _That_ was a part of the changes he had noticed in himself since his return to life. After his attempted suicide had banished the soul shard of Tom Riddle into the ever after, his mind seemed to possess a clarity of thought which it previously lacked and, even _if_ he was being vain about it, his learning aptitude, memory, deductive ability and situational awareness had improved by leaps and bounds. It was an improvement he welcomed gladly.

A now familiar feeling passed through him at his thoughts and the Elder Wand manifested in the grip of his right hand. His unconscious caress of the elder wood produced a quiet tune, one that he was intimately familiar with over the past ten days and was audible to him alone. Where the phoenix feather wand had given off a warm, vibrant feeling, the wand of legend felt cold and dead as a piece of rotten bark. Yet, there were moments when the wand _sang for him_ , when it looked like there was nothing stopping either him or his eerily sentient companion from taking on the world.

Harry looked down, not at the Elder Wand, but the ring finger of his right hand where a glossy black signet ring sat, the engraved symbol of a silver lemniscate on the round cut dark sapphire capstone standing out prominently. When he asked Dumbledore about the symbol, the man said it represented infinity, Ouroboros; the ancient Egyptian symbol of the cyclical nature of all and the rune of eternity for Necromancers and Alchemists alike.

 _Harry Potter shall not remain any longer. From this day forth, you shall be known as Harry Peverell._

It had been Dumbledore's wish, Harry reminded himself. The last wish of the world's greatest mage bound by unseen chains for the entirety of his life. No matter the truth or lies that would soon be told, Albus Dumbledore was a man who did everything within his power to save the life of an innocent child. He risked his entire existence to do what was right and had never regretted the costs he paid.

Was that not enough to call him ' _great_ '? Was not a single selfish action worthy enough to step into heaven?

 _I will live._ Harry promised to the now deceased mage. _I promise you I will_ _ **live my life**_ _by my rules. I will never let them manipulate me, Dumbledore. I will show those… imbeciles the truth of their actions. I will force it down their throat if I have to, but they shall never be blind to the consequences they carelessly ignore._

In response to his thoughts, the signet ring shone with a dark light and the Elder Wand hummed with power, eldritch energies flowing through the body of the magus holding the reins of the feared artefact. Emerald green eyes darkened as ardent words flew from his lips. "I am… _Harry Peverell_."

On the grounds, a chestnut haired man turned around to face where he knew the Headmaster's office was located in the school. Instincts long buried were whispering in his ears, instincts that had not awoken since the first time Azazel stepped on to the world's stage.

* * *

Hagrid walked on the aisle leading to the conjured structure on the shores of the Black lake, ignoring the hundreds of people trying to catch a discreet glimpse. Silent tears streaked down the visible part of his cheeks and dampened his brown beard. Blinking silently, he walked up the steps of the platform to the wide marble table and, ignoring Fudge and Minerva who stood beside, placed the body of Albus Dumbledore wrapped in purple cloth spangled with colour changing stars and immediately walked way to where Olympe Maxime stood, never once looking back.

The phoenix shaped flames around the venue formed a circle around the table and began to croon a tune that Minerva said was the Headmaster's favourite.

Cornelius Fudge stepped up to the podium, wearing his characteristic bowler hat, subdued black robes and an expression that was a mix of regret and fear. His infamous pink attired Undersecretary was nowhere to be seen and it was a strange occurrence for she always stood by his side during important events.

No one truly knew what happened to Umbridge since the centaurs had taken her to the depths of the Forbidden forest. Only Harry and Hermione knew the truth of her disappearance and the two of them were both unknown as a factor in the disappearance, and were least bothered by the fate which had befallen the damnable woman.

There were many words said about the late Headmaster in the speech prepared by Fudge - long praises and high-sounding words like 'nobility of spirit' and 'intellectual contribution', 'greatness of heart' and 'camaraderie'.

It all felt superficial to Harry's ears, as he sat in the row closest to the platform, his eyes only for the shrouded body of the man who had dedicated his life to increasing the odds of his survival.

Cornelius Fudge finished his speech and stepped down from the podium before Minerva McGonagall stepped forward to deliver her eulogy of the man who had been a close friend and her greatest mentor.

 _For once,_ thought Harry, _she really does look_ _ **that**_ _old._ The thought was quite jarring. For as long as he had known the strict headmistress of Hogwarts, the students, including himself, had never once thought of her old for despite her age, she was more active than the quidditch teams. He remembered all the jokes made by House Gryffindor implying that McGonagall would be a fixture at Hogwarts long after their great-grandchildren passed through the school.

In an attempt to suppress the inappropriate laugh that attempted to leave his lips, Harry glanced around the sombre venue. He recognized few of the Order members sitting on the fourth row on the other side of the aisle: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody were sitting beside each other and talking in low tones. He wondered if the paranoid auror was actually _paranoid enough_ , especially since Dumbledore had shook his view of the world.

An extremely depressed Remus sat to the right of Kingsley followed by a middle-aged witch whose name Harry did no remember, an older wizard and Tonks who had streaks of black in her blue hair. There were other witches and wizards sitting beside her but he did not recognise any of them.

A glance to the row behind the Order revealed Arthur and Molly Weasley seated closest to the aisle. Bill was next, followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin and Charlie Weasley with long hair and a burn scar on his left cheek. Molly looked inconsolable as Arthur held her while the rest of the clan had expressions ranging from anger to grief and everyth-

"Mister Potter?"

Harry turned to the source of the voice. Minerva McGonagall was staring at him with a sorrow filled expression. It took him a few seconds before he understood her silent words. Suppressing the nervous tic of his lips, he stood up and walked towards the podium. Ascending the steps to the platform, he riveted his eyes on the shrouded body of Dumbledore surrounded by the still crooning phoenix shaped bluebell flames.

Ignoring Fudge who had tried to whisper a few words to him, Harry stepped up to the podium, noticing a tear-streaked McGonagall to his left.

Feeling the Sonorous charm on the podium activated, Harry focused on the audience before him and mentally faltered. There were many he recognised in the crowd: His friends, Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna and the DA members who had chosen to attend the funeral; Slytherins who had stayed to attend the funeral, most of whom he failed to recognise. There was Olympe Maxime consoling a crying Hagrid, the driver and conductor of the Knight Bus, a woman who he recognised as Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE and the aunt of Susan Bones, most of the shopkeepers and assistants from Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade and far more people than he would ever recognise.

The worst part, according to Harry, was that his mind had processed all that information in less than two seconds with only served to increase his nervousness. Before the horcrux was removed, he knew it would have taken him quite a bit longer to process said information.

 _Just open your mouth and speak, mate._ The voice sounded eerily like Ron. He took a deep breath and decided to charge ahead like the Gryffindor he was.

"The _Boy-Who-Lived_ ," Harry spoke at last, oddly aware that every single person was following his words. He was highly discomfited by the experience. "It was the title given to me by Dumbledore after Voldemort" Nearly all British magi flinched at the term, though some of the French seemed to twitch as well. "disappeared in 1981 after the death of my parents."

A beat of silence passed. "Dumbledore then left me with my relatives for ten years where I knew nothing about magic nor that I was a wizard." Horrified gasps and bug eyes were the most common reaction. "My Hogwarts letter was the first indication that I was a wizard and Hagrid was the first magical I knew in my life before I walked through the gates of Hogwarts."

A smile grew on his lips. "Five years have passed since I first entered Hogwarts. Five years since I met the man you all know as Albus Dumbledore. At first, he was the oddest wizard I ever knew. I mean, who warns us of mortal danger in a school? But he was also the first person who gave me words I have never forgotten. There I was, a first year breaking curfew and exploring the school at night when I met the Headmaster. I was terrified that I would be expelled when he simply bid me goodnight and sent me off to my dormitory."

Out of the corner of his eye, McGonagall grumbled at dotty old men and their lax discipline. "But I never forgot the advice he gave that night." He closed his eyes to recall the memory he still remembered vividly. He was sure that even if he lost everything, he would have the memory of that night, the day he first met his parents in a mirror of a bygone age in a long forgotten room. " _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._ "

Harry opened his eyes to stare at the audience, tears glistening in his eyes. "He represented the best of all that is Hogwarts, the best of us all. Of everybody I know, Albus Dumbledore left the greatest mark on my life. To me, he was the man who always has had all the answers, the man who believed me when no one else did. The man who always led us… towards the light with a candle in the dark. The man who taught me it is not the colour of your House, the family you were born into, the magic you were taught, the faction of your politics, your race… or your beliefs. To him, it was always the _**choices**_ made that defined the life of a person."

The audience were hanging on to his every word.

"He was a flawed man, one who made several bad decisions over the course of his life. Yet, he stayed true to his ideals till the very end. He rid us of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and then, after achieving a feat that the ICW could not, returned to Hogwarts, to teaching his students without so much as a single word. Although," Harry felt his smile widen, "I think he was rather vain about the fact that he had been famous enough to get his own chocolate-card."

The crowd chuckled at the words, though many people, mostly the foreign delegation, in the front rows stared at Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Today, I stand on this platform to bid goodbye to the man I knew as a Headmaster, as a mentor, as a friend… as a grandfather, if I might be allowed to say so." His smile cracked with grief and the tears dried up. "To the organised mind of Albus Percival Wulfric _Brian_ Dumbledore, _death_ was but the next great adventure…"

A few beats of silence passed before Harry faced the marble table and the shrouded body atop it. "I bid you farewell…"

Fawkes flew over the venue.

"But I don't know the right words to say goodbye."

The blue phoenixes began spinning around the table at a faster pace.

A smile rose unbidden on his lips. "So, I'll say goodbye with the words you greeted me with."

Fawkes dived towards the middle of the circle of phoenixes.

"Nitwit."

The blue phoenixes grew brighter.

"Blubber."

The entire table began to glow with a strange light.

"Oddment."

Fawkes and the bluebell flame phoenixes met in a shower of flames.

"Tweak."

A shower of arrows shot from the bows of the Centaurs standing near the Forbidden Forest and the song of the Mermen rose from the waters of the Black lake as Fawkes and the phoenixes flashed, a bright red colour inundating the funeral.

* * *

Harry walked among the crowds slowly dispersing out of the venue, reciprocating the greetings of fellow students, teachers and some of the Order members. He still remembered Tonks dragging him into a tight hug, saying, "You looked like you needed it, Green-eyes," before winking at him and walked towards Charlie Weasley who was talking to his brother Bill. Moody told him that the Order was now recruiting members and, if he wanted to, he was always welcome. Kingsley had stated the same while the middle-aged witch still looked at him like he was Merlin incarnate.

Excusing himself from the group of Order members, Harry had continued to walk through the crowd of strangers, their whispers assaulting his ears.

 _Why don't you guys just hold a board that says '_ _ **Talking about Harry Potter**_ _'._ The acidic thought passing through his mind. _It might be_ _ **more discreet**_ _._

" **Not now** , Hermione." Harry waved off Hermione as she approached him, not willing to get into a conversation with her at the moment. If he let her speak, he doubted he was getting away without being grilled on his whereabouts for the last two days.

Ever since he informed his two friends about Dumbledore's death, Ron had withdrawn into himself. He could be spotted in the Gryffindor common room while Dean, Seamus or Neville tried to get him involved in a conversation of Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons. They did not always succeed but Ron did slowly come around. He had last seen the ginger head speaking with Seamus, Lee Jordan, Lisa Turpin and Luna.

On the other hand, Hermione had done everything she could to try and find him to, as he suspected, get him to talk about his feelings on the death of two people who were close to him. He had no wish to be a patient for her so-called therapy.

He strolled towards his divination teacher, Firenze, who stood at the edge of the lake and away from the centaur herd heading back into the Forbidden Forest. It looked like the herd had yet to accept Firenze back into their fold.

As he neared the centaur, he observed Firenze watching him silently. He stopped near the centaur and returned his gaze equally, without flinching.

"The old bloodline has risen, I see." Firenze spoke in the manner of all centaurs. "Jupiter is bright, Harry Potter, and Mars dances with joy. Are you the cause, I wonder, or the effect?"

"Does that mean I'm going to be hurt again before I leave the school?" Harry asked with a chuckle. He never understood the words of the blonde centaur and the planets section in his divination textbook provided little clue. However, Dumbledore had explained about the divination ability of centaurs and stated that their portents are only as true as a person wishes them to be.

Firenze raised an eyebrow. "The scratches on your hand or the stab of a spear are of no more significance than the scurrying of ants to the wide universe. Such actions are unaffected by the movements of the celestial bodies. They do not intervene in our world, Mister Potter, but merely provide us a glimpse of what may come. I believe I have already educated you on such matters."

Harry's smile widened. "I am not a fan of the subject, Professor."

Sea blue eyes softened at the smile. "Even if you were the _last_ wizard on Gaia, Harry Potter, I would not expect you to be a Seer. The thought would not even cross my mind."

"But you have far too much interest in me, Professor." Harry replied with a cracked smile, feeling the numerous eyes of the crowd on him and the divination professor, though the centaur seemed unfazed.

 _Looks like all of Brown and Patil's staring paid off._ Harry snorted at the thought that those two gossips had trained their resident centaur to ignore _gossip_. He was quite sure that if he told them about his ' _discovery_ ', they might just burst into wails.

Firenze did not seem offended by Harry's sputtering laughter. "Centaurs rarely hold any interest in the world beyond the needs of the self or the herd, Mister Potter. We do not care for the squabbles of humankind."

Harry's laughter subsided and emerald eyes stared at the centaur. It was not an answer to his unasked question. "If centaurs don't interfere in our matters, why are you here, Professor?"

Firenze seemed to give the centaur equivalent of a shrug. "Perhaps I do not possess the wisdom of my kin. Perhaps I pity humanity and wish to provide guidance. Perhaps I wish to see the destruction of wizards with my eyes, or I am merely mad and follow what strikes my fancy."

Over the years, Harry had learned of many things, one of which was to detect the tells when his friends were lying. Ron would avoid eye contact. Hermione would ramble an entire textbook if you let her. Fred and George would have strangely malicious smiles on their faces, although no one seemed to pick up on it. Neville would give enough information to ensure people made the wrong assumptions, a tactic he knew Dumbledore employed. Luna… He had no idea if Lune ever told a lie, but she did seem more spaced or ambivalent when you asked her a personal question.

Now, the back of his neck tingled as his mind recognised Firenze's words for what they were. "You haven't answered my original question."

Firenze raised an eyebrow. "Did I not? Fancy that, Harry Potter. Judging by your expression, it seems that you shall hound me until I provide the answer. The truth is a wonderful and terrible thing. Do you _truly_ wish to know?"

Harry clenched his teeth at the comment and bit back his retort. "Yes!" He nearly snarled.

Firenze ignored his anger like a mountain ignored the wind. "You confuse the celestial bodies themselves, Harry Potter. That is why you hold interest."

Harry raised an eyebrow in turn. "I hold your interest because the stars looked out of shape?"

Firenze smiled. "There is no method I know of by which a person may cheat death."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the blonde centaur., wondering what did he know, and how much. Deciding to end this suddenly uncomfortable conversation, he said, "Thanks for the… interesting conversation, Professor. I need to go."

Harry turned around and walked away from the far too shrewd gaze when he heard a comment and stopped to turn around.

"The heavens point towards a turmoil arriving soon."

Harry clenched his fists. "The heavens have been read wrong before, even by centaurs, has it not?" He returned, using the centaur's own words against him.

Firenze smiled charmingly. "Let us hope the heavens are wrong."

* * *

"I agree," said Minerva McGonagall, standing far away from the marble tomb of her mentor. Her words were directed towards Fudge and Amelia Bones. "It is not true to say that Albus never envisaged a situation in which Hogwarts might close. When the Chamber of Secrets was reopened, he was quite ready to close down the school if it the lives of the students would not be in danger – and I must say that the death of Albus Dumbledore is far more disturbing to me than the idea of Slytherin's monster living undetected in the bowels of the castle." A beat of silence passed. "But now, more than ever, the school must remain open. It shall remain open for all the students who shall arrive here on September first with hopes of learning magic. It shall not be closed down on the account of a single madman who simply refuses to die. This school is a sanctuary, Minister. The Founders built this school to guard their charges against all those who would attempt to take them. Not even the Dark Lord can change that."

"Please understand, Minerva." Fudge tried to reason with the stern Transfiguration mistress. "Times are changing. Dumbledore is **dead**. The Ministry is doing everything it can to prevent the rise of You-Know-Who. But you must understand that keeping the school open is like – like – like putting meat in front of a hungry dragon. The Dark Lo-"

"Voldemort."

The reaction was instantaneous. Fudge yelped and his green bowler hat fell out of place as the Minister tried to settle it back on his head. Minerva turned towards the source, and found Harry standing beside her.

Amelia had noticed the Potter boy as he approached their impromptu meeting. She would have warned the Minister, if she was not as amused at seeing a suddenly pale Fudge flail like a flobberworm in front of Harry Potter.

"Potter." Fudge stammered at the sudden appearance of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had tried everything to get Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived on his side after the public return of the Dark Lord but neither had budged on their _anti-Ministry_ stance. After Dumbledore had died, he and a few ministry officials had tried to rope the boy into helping them with bribes and a reminder of his duty to Wizarding Britain only to receive a glare of such intensity that he felt he ought to turn into ash.

"Lady Bones. Professor McGonagall." Harry acknowledged his two teachers, deliberately ignoring the pale faced Minister. "Professor Dumbledore told me that all it takes for evil to win is for good to do nothing. I refused to break when Voldemort tortured me and killed Cedric. I refused to bend when the _Minister_ ," Emerald eyes stared at Fudge who was avoiding them. "and his pets did their utter best to brand me a liar and a traitor. Hogwarts will not close down. It cannot close down. Professor Flitwick told me the last thing Dumbledore did was to discuss the future of the students with the staff. We can truly honour him by ensuring the children are safe and their education is not interrupted or otherwise impaired by a psychopath."

"Brave words, Mister Potter." Amelia replied, her hawk-like eyes analysing Harry Potter. "I can see why Susan thinks so highly of you." She did think highly of him as well. Not only did the boy refuse to give in to the demands of the Ministry over the past year, he had also led a group which had successfully educated the three house in the DADA subject. She was even more impressed, and shocked, when Susan had displayed a _perfect_ corporeal patronus. The fact that a fifteen-year-old taught dozens of students to cast a corporeal patronus when all of them had never even tried the spell before was, if she was honest about it, an extraordinary achievement.

"Peverell." Harry corrected the DMLE Director. "I decided to use the original name of my family, Lady Bones. My name is now Harry Peverell." He heard McGonagall gasp at his words, and knew he would have to explain later. "The House of Potter is now the Most Ancient House of Peverell." He sent a quiet thanks to Dumbledore for educating him on everything he knew of the Houses and their traditions.

Fudge's face was changing colour so fast that Harry wondered if Tonks disguised as the potbellied moron.

Bones had a glint in her eye and sorting. "Peverell," she repeated, testing the word. "I have not heard of the Peverell name for a long time, Mister Potter. In fact, the only time I ever remember hearing the name was during my childhood when my father began instructing me on the history of the magical world. I doubt anyone outside the Houses could even tell you anything about the House of Peverell beyond a children's tale in a popular book."

"It's not that popular." Harry returned.

"And with due reason."

Harry spun around instantly.

The man standing before Harry had the look of what appeared to be an older French man with chestnut coloured hair. His eyes were a forest with sea blue flecks. He appeared to be around the age of forty but his eyes gave him away. They were far too old and far too experienced.

"It is a good opportunity to meet you in person, Mister… Peverell." The man intoned softly, his voice having a slight French accent overlapping with what Amelia knew was a tinge of Spanish. Seeing the group, except the teenager, stare at him in some confusion, he said, "Forgive me. I am Nicholas Flamel."

The group was stunned into silence. The mind of Cornelius Fudge was fumbling at the presence of the most famous alchemist in his field and desperately tried to restore some of his dignity. McGonagall appeared to have no words to speak.

Amelia Bones was surprised for an entirely different reason. Sure, the man was an immortal alchemist and was one of the most influential figures in the magical world; Amelia was sure that if the man wanted to, he could easily be the Supreme Mugwump. No, his presence nor his aura were the reasons she was stunned into silence. It was the fact that the man had chosen to speak to Harry Potter amongst those present. It might be that Dumbledore had mentioned the Boy-Who-Lived to his immortal mentor over the years and the man was simply curious about the young man. However, she could ignore her instincts screaming at her.

While relatively young for the post she held, Bones had one of the most successful arrest records in the history of the DMLE. In fact, her record was just below that of her mentor, Alastor ' _Mad-Eye_ ' Moody. Her rise through the Auror Office to the rank of DMLE Director was the fastest in the history of the department, and she did not get there by her pretty face. Despite all the jokes her now deceased brothers made on her abilities, she knew her deductive skills, combined with her muggle degree in criminal psychology, were second to none and were honed further under the tutelage of Moody.

So, when her instincts screamed an almost sixteen-year-old was one of the most dangerous people she ever met, she did not ignore it. When those same instincts shouted that the Immortal Alchemist had not approached out of mere curiosity, she studied the interaction hoping to gain any clues.

Harry looked at the alchemist steadily, his mental defences at full power. There were no hints of passive legilimency or a light mental probe as the man gazed at him.

"Lord… Flamel." Harry spoke at last in a polite, if stilted, tone.

"Albus Dumbledore was quite fond of you, Mister Peverell. I can recall a number of occasions where he spoke of you fondly. I wonder if he was the source of the knowledge regarding your family…"

A part of Harry wished for nothing more than to rip Flamel apart. Even the Elder Wand approved as a wave of power coursed through him. A much smaller part held the rest of him at bay. The much smaller part won this round.

"It isn't nice to speak ill of the dead, Lord Flamel." Harry almost drawled, unable to get a read on the impassive gaze of the immortal before him. "Regardless of what he may taught me, Dumbledore would have wanted to impart a piece of advice _**to you**_."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

Harry's lips twisted into a near smirk. "People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right." He felt a sliver of amusement from receiving a reaction. "No matter what happens from this moment onwards, know that Professor Dumbledore was victorious."

Nicholas' eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Do you mean to-"

"I am _free_." Harry smiled at the man. "I am sure that an astute person like you understands the meaning."

"Curious." Nicholas murmured. "Very curious, indeed." He sent a focused scan to get a proper look on the boy. There was no trace of the soul piece or the bindings once placed. Not to mention the magic circuits of the boy appeared to running at an alarming pace. As per his inference years ago, it was clear that the boy was now a Level Five Magus, one with power on par with Albus Dumbledore.

However, the results produced more questions than answers, answers he would not receive until he talked to his wife to understand the situation. For now, he would simply have to observe. _All right, Harry Peverell. You have my attention._

Nicholas' eyes widened as he felt a legilimency based message shoot towards him and he inwardly seethed at the impudence of the boy.

 _I always had it. It's time you get mine._

"Ahem," Amelia Bones cleared her throat loudly. "Lord Flamel? It is an honour to finally meet you."

The sudden diversion seemed to have taken Nicholas off-guard. Shifting his eyes off the boy, he turned towards the DMLE Head, and smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Bones. Minister Fudge. Lady McGonagall." He turned towards the Minister who seemed to have lost his voice, "I would not miss the funeral of my oldest apprentice and friend, would I?"

Inwardly, Harry snarled at Nicholas. Dumbledore and Nicholas did share a cordial relationship, the multiple attempts made by the Flamels towards Harry's extermination had soured their friendship badly, not to mention their role in the decision to make Harry's life miserable and the precautions taken to keep him in the dark regarding his heritage and the dangers surrounding him had gone a long way towards Dumbledore's hatred of the famous couple.

However, Harry also knew that Nicholas Flamel and his wife were members of the Illusive _Council_ , the super-secret organisation that exerted significant effort to keep certain… anathemas at bay. Harry was not arrogant enough to claim he knew everything about the subject. Dumbledore had passed on every bit of knowledge he possessed and even he knew also the meanest of scraps and myths. Only his position as the Supreme Mugwump gave him the barest of glimpses into the organisation whose existence was known to a mere handful of individuals.

Based on the information he had at the moment, all Harry _knew_ he could do was to try and stay out of any trouble that would bring them down on his head as Dumbledore had repeatedly warned him that any antagonistic actions towards them might not let him or those close to him survive long. That, however, did not prevent him for trying to antagonise the legendary alchemist.

"I cannot truly speak for the ICW, Madam Bones," Nicholas paused. "For the past ten months, the British Ministry of Magic has been enthusiastically vocal regarding assurances that the Dark Lord known as Voldemort was dead and has, in no way, shape or form, returned to life. Furthermore, your administration, not to mention Minister Fudge, have repeatedly claimed that my friend, Albus Dumbledore, was a liar and… what was the other word? Ah! A delusional lunatic."

Despite his utter dislike for the man, Harry found it extremely difficult to not laugh at the turn of events. Seeing Fudge sputter like a moron was totally worth it.

Nicholas continued to speak, blithely ignoring Fudge and the pained expression of Amelia. "You do understand that Albus was trying to get a proposal passed through the World Security Council of the ICW, to deploy a regiment of the ICW War-Wizards in order to aid Britain in the battle against Voldemort." His tone was surprisingly casual for the nature of the discussion. "I must admit that he was making a rather successful endeavour of the matter, a rather significant achievement considering the the state of Wizarding Britain's international relations."

Fudge was imitating a tomato and the Director of the DMLE was staring at Nicholas the way dragon stared at a threat.

Nicholas suppressed a grin. "Before he could achieve his tasks, Albus lost his Chief Warlock position of your… Wizengamot, and his position as the British representative to the ICW. It is quite unnecessary to expand on the consequences of those actions. Suffice it to say that the ICW did not think a man not trusted by his own government was fit to be the Supreme Mugwump and promptly retired him and his proposal fell through."

Never let it be said that Harry Peverell was a person of weak composure. Had it been so, he would have been rolling on the ground, crying tears of joy.

"But…but…" Fudge spluttered.

Nicholas addressed the man for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "Now, your Ministry reports Voldemort was _spotted,_ at the centre of your administration, inside the Department of Mysteries, which, if I am to believe certain sources, is the most _secured_ department in the entire building?"

"I – well – we - I mean-" Fudge tried and failed to regain _any_ composure in the face of Nicholas Flamel's biting remarks.

"Regardless of your report," Nicholas continued. "To the best of _my_ knowledge, not even fifteen days have passed since the infiltration of the Department of Mysteries and, according to the ICW, it is the only action that can be attributed to your Dark Lord as any previous actions you may or may _not have_ reported were blamed on… one Sirius Black who, if memory serves, was a prisoner who escaped Azkaban three years ago."

Harry used inch of his limited mastery in occlumentic emotional dampeners and applied a _Notice-me-not_ charm on himself. He knew that his godfather would be laughing his arse off, at the turn of events. The last thought sobered him up quickly.

"To summarize the events, only fifteen days have passed since Voldemort was publically spotted. Neither him nor his followers have been reported since their _successful_ attempt at revealing the pathetic state of the security of the British Ministry. Since the _current_ British representative to the ICW and your Wizengamot have been adamant on the British solving their internal matters themselves, it would be an extreme breach of the ICW Charter to aid you."

"Lord Flamel." Amelia intervened. She understood the man was angry regarding the treatment of his student and the circumstances that led to his death. He seemed all but ready to throw the Ministry to the wolves. She could not begrudge him his revenge but there were innocents to consider and she could not let him walk away, not when he was the best chance they possibly had to gain the help of the ICW. "You must understand the current disposition of the Ministry is not the same as it was a year ago. The British Ministry of Magic is in a dire state of affairs." She shot Fudge a glare to shut him up, "Without the aid of the ICW-"

"I am not sure if Albus would have liked to say ' _I told you so_ ', but I can assure you that there is nothing… in the _current administration_ to generate any form of goodwill from the ICW." Nicholas sent a not-so-subtle glance towards the Minister. "I have matters that require my attention. It was nice meeting you, Minister. Lady Bones. Lady McGonagall. Mister Peverell."

Minerva excused herself from the group and headed towards the school while Fudge stood there gaping like a frog.

Amelia was quite frustrated by the man's parting words. It seemed that the entirety of the ICW did not care about their fate, which might have seemed fair for many of the members from the continent as Britain had failed to provide support during the war against Grindelwald. She hated the fact that politics once again interfered in the matters of saving lives. She did not miss the pointed glance towards Fudge. The Wizengamot was baying for his blood and Amelia knew the man would be removed his post in the next session. She walked away with plans to gather any many seated members of the Wizengamot as she could to change the political landscape before Voldemort could take advantage of the chaos to place his pawns in positions of power.

Harry watched the man walk away towards an empty patch of grass where he was joined by the rest of the ICW delegation and their security guards before the entire group faded into the air. He was quite surprised by their method of travel. From observation alone, he knew it was neither apparition or portkey. He felt that he already knew the technique but was unable to put his finger on it. Dismissing the thought for now, he turned to stare at the white tomb which now encased the body of Albus Dumbledore.

He had resigned himself to fighting Tom and his cronies. Dumbledore had provided him with a set of advantages that would be extremely helpful in the upcoming battles along with a set of responsibilities he could not shirk.

"Dobby!"

A second later, the hyper-excitable elf popped in front of him with an excited "Master Harry Potter called for Dobby?"

"Yes, Dobby. I did." Harry had chosen to bond with the elf three days ago. It would provide with a companion that he could trust without reserve and a source of help that he would be hard pressed to find in a world that he now knew was filled with monsters.

"What can Dobby do for Master Harry Potter sir?"

Harry's lips twisted in amusement. It seemed like none of his talks regarding the mode of address had gotten through to the elf. _Oh well…_ "I need you to gather my stuff from my dormitory and move them to my godfather's house. Make sure you don't miss item. I've got them all packed in my trunk and a small parcel placed on my bed." Frowning in thought, he asked, "Do you know where the house is located, Dobby?"

Dobby bobbed his head enthusiastically. "Master knows, so Dobby knows."

Harry tilted his head. Whatever else he might be confused about, he knew one fact would never change: he would _never_ understand house-elves. "Alright. Go ahead and get it done, Dobby. I'll be at the house soon."

* * *

 **May 31** **st** **, 1996**

"Where is Harry?" was the first thing that Hermione Granger said to Alastor Moody when she and Ron had got off the Hogwarts express at King's Cross station on the evening of the day after the funeral.

Alastor glared at them, his magical eye swirling madly. He and Remus had arrived at the station to pick up the two Weasley kids and the Granger girl who would arrive from Hogwarts. It was also a preventative measure to ensure no death eaters followed them to their safe house. "Potter is safe at the moment. You lot will meet him soon."

"But Harry wasn't on the train, and he didn't-" Ron began, but the glare from Moody shut him up effectively.

Besides Alastor, Remus watched the rest of the platform with a subdued demeanour. The death of his friend and marauder had hit the man hard with a depressed air hanging around him. Coupled with Dumbledore's death, the werewolf was having a hard time coping with life.

A minute later, Ginny had joined the group. Greeting Alastor and Remus, she turned to her friends and asked, "Did you see Malfoy's face when he got off the train? I think his mother was extremely disappointed at her son's _less than laudable appearance_." The last words were spoken in a high pitched whiny tone.

Hermione scowled. _That – that – that… insufferable little git!_ During the journey to King's Cross, she had visited the train's bathroom to freshen up. Her walk back to the compartment was interrupted by Malfoy and his two bookends. Snarky comments, angry words and spells were exchanged causing a significant cut just below her left breast. The wound was caused by a cutting curse which had passed through her hastily erected _Protego_ shield. It had been a painful experience but was nothing compared to the purple flame spell that Dolohov had struck her with and a simple _Therapevo spell_ had healed the flesh completely. The pain was no longer present although the flesh was still sore. She hoped that a good night's rest would get rid of it.

"Did Malfoy attacked anyone?" Alastor asked, eyes focused on the expressions of the three teenagers.

"The bastard attacked her," Ginny answered before Hermione could even open her mouth. "The DA members helped and well…" She snickered at the memory, "He and his goons wasn't feeling so bright after the DA got their hands on him."

Ron had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. The images of Crabbe and Goyle puking slugs was nice but that was nothing compared to the sight of a blue skinned Malfoy with tentacles sprouting out of his ears and hanging upside down the ceiling of the compartment.

"That might not have been a good idea, Ginny." Remus countered softly. He did not want the teens being dragged into the war with ill-thought actions. "With the Dark Lord being back, you can't put yourselves in danger be-"

"The ferret was attacking Hermione!" Ron interrupted, anger coursing through him at his former professor's response. "You think we're just gonna let him walk all over us-"

"Enough of that." Alastor said gruffly, a scowl on his face. Many people on the platform were staring at them after Ron's outburst, their faces ranging from curios to angry. "We need to leave. _Immediately._ " He pulled a small rubber rope from one of his many coat pockets and held it out to the group. "Portkey." He muttered. "Hold on to it."

Hermione clutched onto the rope, hoping it would not be as bad as their trip to the World Cup. She did not like the sensation of travelling through an extremely twisted space.

Ron and Ginny were green at the memories of the trip to the World Cup as he grabbed the rope. Remus shrunk the luggage of the three teenagers and stuffed them inside his pocket before grabbing a piece of the rope.

Alastor began the countdown. "Three. Two. One."

A sharp tug on their navels and the entire group vanished in a pale blue light.

* * *

The group in an alley in the middle of Central London with a pale blue light. Alastor and Remus were already moving out of the dingy alley as the teenagers leaned on the walls to grab some much needed breath.

Their portkey from King's Cross had landed them group in Epsom, a town to the south of London. The two adults in the group then side-along apparated the three teenagers to Croydon where they walked for half a mile before entering an alleyway that led to an Order safe house. The five of them then apparated to Dulwich park in south London from where they portkeyed to the alley they now stood in.

After regaining their breath, Ron exited the alley followed by Ginny and Hermione.

"Where is this place?" Hermione asked staring at the street. It felt familiar, like a memory she once possessed but had long since decayed in time.

Remus glanced at Alastor before replying. "You will have to wait for them to arrive before you learn."

"Who?" Ginny asked while Hermione and Ron had grabbed their wands quickly, wondering if the two adults were death eaters in disguise.

"For those pranking brothers of yours. They should be here right," Alastor paused and pulled out a pocket watch and stared at the seven dials. "about now."

A moment of silence later, the Weasley twins appeared before the group with a sound of a whip crack and stared at them with wide smiles.

"Ah, if it isn't our resident book eater and idiot brother!" George joked. "Welcome to the super-secret place that we can't talk about."

Ginny scowled at the twins. "Your sister is right here, in case you forgot."

Fred reacted with mock-surprise. "How dare you belittle us, little sister."

George reacted with the same expression. "Of course, we did not forget such a beautiful young lady."

"We were merely saving the best for last."

"We just wanted to see if you would miss your brothers-"

"-or your sweetheart first."

Face as red as her hair, Ginny gave her brothers a hard, blazing look and Ron scowled at them as Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. Everyone, except Harry, knew of Ginny's crush on him and the twins had always loved to tease her about it. In turn, Ginny would chase after the duo with her wand blazing with hexes. Hermione knew they were simply taking advantage of the underage magic rule to get away with their teasing but she knew better. Ginny would sooner or later retaliate in a perfectly neat manner. She had a vicious streak a mile wide to not take revenge.

The veteran auror smirked at the antics of the children. Taking a piece of vellum out of his breast pocket, he held it out to the teenagers who stared at the words written on the paper.

 _ **Harry Potter invites you to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.**_

Every current, and former, Hogwarts student felt a searing ache pass through their heads. Fred and George wobbled slightly on their feet while Ron clutched his head. Hermione blinked thrice to remove the dizziness affecting her but remained upright. The most severe reaction had come from Ginny who screamed and fell to the ground as her arms pressed down on her temples.

" **What was that!?** " George snarled, as he and Fred quickly pulled their sister up after she had stopped screaming and was slightly dizzy on her feet.

Remus stared at a particular building with an air of depression as Alastor grinned at the teenagers. " _That_ was your minds remembering information they were _enchanted_ to forget.

"What do you-" Hermione countered before the realisation hit her. Brown eyes stared at the surroundings as she finally remembered the name of the street and when she last stood here. It was over a year ago when they left to arrive at Hogwarts for their fifth year from the apartment where she had spent the majority of the last summer. It stood between houses eleven and thirteen on the other side of the street.

The London Townhouse of the Blacks. 12 Grimmauld Place.

"But the Fidelius charm doesn't behave like that." Hermione accused the ex-auror, her discomfort rising by the second. She had seen the Fidelius in action when she was brought to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix last summer. From what she had studied about the spell, and the information provided by Professor Flitwick, the person who did not possess the secret would not have a single memory of any form associated with the location now protected by the Fidelius.

"It's not the Fidelius, lass." Alastor replied with a throaty laugh. "The building is fortified with the Black war wards and _certain_ secrecy, anonymity and unplottable charms for most of the street. The information regarding the building is now protected by _advanced_ Notice-me-not and entanglement wards."

"But-" Hermione stopped talking as the answer hit her. "The other wards would interfere with the Fidelius." She murmured to herself.

"Yeah, creepy thing eh?" Alastor grinned at the lot. He had heartily approved of the changes. There were too many things that could go wrong with the Fidelius, especially when far too many people knew the location of their former headquarters.

Hermione was unsure about the right word to describe the situation. _Creepy_ did not even suffice. Not only had her memory been altered without her consent, she did not even realise that the knowledge had been lost. That unconscious loss sent a chill down her spine.

Ron had simply shrugged at the explanation. Besides, if Mad-Eye believed the house was safe, it was safe. His dad always said he was the most paranoid man alive, and if he believed in the wards, Ron had nothing to worry about. Right now, his only concern was finding Harry and talking to his best friend who had not spoken to him in three days.

Ginny stared at the townhouse with a small migraine ringing between her ears. She felt worse than when the Fidelius secret had been imparted to her. Rubbing her eyes to remove some of the discomfort she was experiencing, she asked, "Is mum already in?"

"Just a minute!" Fred interrupted before Alastor could answer Ginny, "Dumbledore had the building under the Fidelius last time. Why would he remove it?"

"True lad." Alastor interrupted. "Albus would 'ave wanted the Fidelius. Potter didn't."

"What?" Hermione uttered in shock. "Harry chose to put the wards? But Harry doesn't even know Arithmancy."

Alastor grunted. "Enough with the questions. Now get in." Letting those kids ask their questions while they were sitting ducks had been excruciating to his senses. It was a good thing he did not have to do this job again. And if anybody wanted him to, well… he would introduce them to the business end of his gnarled staff.

* * *

On the third floor of the townhouse was located a bedroom overlooking the street. A European king sized bed with red and gold sheets and pillows faced the windows with thick white curtains drape over them. A door leading to the hallway was located to the left of the bed with a study desk and a chair to the right. A large walk-in wardrobe was located to the left of the study desk and a door leading to the en-suite bathroom beyond that.

Harry Peverell sat on the chair of the study desk, hunched over a parchment with a self-inking quill in hand as he furiously scribbled away. A set of muggle notebooks and a few pens were lying on the table along with an inkpot and several stacked letters he had yet to open.

He stopped writing to take a look at the list he had developed at the moment. It was a list of tasks he had written down that needed to be accomplished over the summer. After he had arrived at the townhouse in the early hours of the morning and greeting Missus Weasley, he had retired to the room to focus on his work while Dobby forced meals and snacks on him.

Harry stared at the painfully short list for a few minutes and drooped his shoulders. Despite all the information Dumbledore had provided and the hours he had poured into the list, it was still woefully short. Placing the parchment down with a sigh, he rubbed his eyes. He knew there were multiple tasks to be accomplished in order to fully defeat Voldemort and the Council that would soon come after him. The former proved to be quite simple in theory: destroy his horcruxes, take down his supporters and annihilate the bastard. The latter proved to be far more difficult; he had yet to produce one viable idea, other than killing them all, to get them off his back.

There was a sudden pop to his left causing Harry to turn towards the visitor he knew would be there.

Dobby bowed to his Master deeply. "Master's Grangy and Weezly have arrived along with the Jumping Twins, the Red-faced girl, Spinny-eye and Wolf-man. They are speaking to Missus Weezly." Noting his Master Harry Potter sir understand his words, he asked, "Does Master Harry Potter sir need Dobby to do anything else?"

"No, Dobby. That's all I wanted to know." Harry replied distractedly. Rubbing his eyes again, he asked the elf, "Do you have anything to tell me, Dobby?"

At the question, Dobby squirmed. He knew he could not lie to the Great Master Harry Potter sir. Looking down at the mismatched shirt, jeans and socks he wore, he knew the Great Master Harry Potter Sir was a great person. He had given Dobby a purpose in life and offered his friendship. He could not lie to his Master and that made him squirm where he stood.

Harry stared in confusion at the elf. He had asked the question with the knowledge that Dobby never had anything to say beyond when the next meal was served or if he had any complaints about Kreacher. He had been unable to resolve the differences between Dobby and the hateful black elf who now obeyed him. "What's wrong, Dobby?"

"Master can't… well, Dobby has been a bad elf, Master." Dobby answered with obvious guilt in his bulbous eyes. "Dobby has been a very bad elf."

Harry frowned at Dobby's behaviour. _Please don't tell me another fight broke out between him and Kreacher._ "What did you do, Dobby?"

Dobby did his best to look away. He was no stranger to being punished. The bad masters Malfoy had always punished him severely for any mistake he made. Master Harry Potter sir had instructed Dobby to come to Master if he had committed any mistakes so that they could discuss his punishment. Dobby did not mind punishments. The reason Dobby had delayed telling his mistake was because Dobby did not wish to see disappointment or unhappiness in Master Harry Potter sir.

Steeling himself for the upcoming punishment, Dobby said, "Dobby was… Dobby was cleaning the house like Master wanted. Dobby was cleaning the downstairs basement when the Kreacher elf stopped Dobby. Kreacher elf prevented Dobby from finishing work. Dobby told the Kreacher elf to go away as Master Harry Potter sir had ordered Dobby to clean the house. Dobby told Kreacher elf that he should leave. The Kreacher elf did not listen and attacked Dobby."

Harry narrowed his eyes. It was the first time he had heard of Kreacher attacking Dobby. "Kreacher!" He shouted.

Kreacher did not appear.

"Kreacher!" Harry called out again.

Said elf did not respond.

"The Kreacher elf is no more, Master."

Harry widened his eyes at the answer. Staring at Dobby with a certain level of trepidation, he asked, "Dobby? What did you do?"

Dobby looked away in shame. "Dobby took away Kreacher's _existence_. Dobby has a… _thing_ that can do that."

"You killed him?" Harry stood up. It wasn't like he had any lost love for the other elf, especially after its role in Sirius's death. He was, however, more concerned that Dobby had effectively killed someone as Dobby certainly did not appear to be a killer.

"Dobby shall not let anyone harm Harry Potter." The elf replied stubbornly, staring at his Master with steel in his eyes.

"So you killed him?" Harry asked again

"Dobby cannot say."

Harry groaned at the non-answer. It felt like talking to Dumbledore all over again. Knowing he had to ask the right question, he thought for a moment before asking, "Did this… _thing_ you own kill Kreacher?"

Dobby nodded.

"And do all elves have this… _thing_ with them?" Harry really wished that all elves did not possess it.

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby won it in a gamble, Master Harry Potter sir."

"You gamble?" Harry asked, quite astonished by the elf's answer.

"In Knockturn alley." Dobby replied with some enthusiasm.

"You gamble and intimidate people to pay up?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. _Maybe I should start writing a paper on house elves._ He had on idea that elves could do such things and he certainly did not expect it from Dobby.

"Freedom has given Dobby several options." The elf replied with the look of a man who had achieved nirvana.

For a moment, Harry wondered if Dobby had been training with some sage in India. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he opened it again. "And what exactly happened to Kreacher?"

"Dobby cannot say." Dobby shook his head.

Harry took a deep breath, before sighing. "Never mind, Dobby. There is no punishment for this. Return back to work."

"Thank you, Master."

* * *

Grimmauld Place looked nothing like what Hermione Granger remembered. Gone were the damp walls, dusty floors and infested ceiling, and the sweetish, rotting smell that permeated the entire building. The shrieking portrait of Walburga Black and the troll leg stand by the stairs leading to the upper floors were missing.

The antique lamps were still present along with some of the more… medieval decorations. The rest of the building appeared to have been newly renovated. The walls and ceiling had a fresh coat of paint, a ceiling painted white and a floor with freshly paved wood. Feather soft carpets covered the entire floor with new coat racks and a proper umbrella stand on the corner. The entire house still possessed its overwhelming association with serpentine decorations with the stairs, door knobs, chandeliers, paintings and lamps and a heavy emphasis on gothic and medieval styles but it now looked far more inhabitable than it did a year ago.

 _They must have been working on the house during our fifth year._

She walked through the foyer, past the parlour, stairs and towards the kitchen where the smell of freshly cooked food wafted from. Followed by Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, she placed on her hand on the door knob and pushed the door open, hoping to find her currently reclusive friend seated in one of the chairs along the long dining table she knew was present.

From the sounds coming from the now open door, Remus and Alastor were talking to each and Molly Weasley who appeared to be interjecting her comments.

Hermione and the Weasleys entered the large dining room to find Molly, Remus and Alastor standing at the head of the table as they spoke to each other.

Seeing the teenagers walk in, Molly got up from the table with a wide smile on her face, "Hello, dears" and walked around the table to give Hermione a tight hug followed by the rest of her children.

Ron turned beet red at the hug but returned it with little hesitation. Ginny responded with a far tighter hug while Fred and George pretended to complain and tug themselves away in dramatic fashion.

A pang went through Hermione at the gesture from Molly. According to Alastor, her parents were confounded to believe she would be on an excursion with the friends for her next month and it would be an excellent opportunity for them to go the vacation they were planning for years (they were not). She knew her parents were now in Rome enjoying the sights the city had to offer and their contact numbers were given to her by the ex-auror. She would call them as soon as she got an opportunity to find a telephone.

Right now, her objective to find _Harry Potter_ who had suddenly decided to become a recluse and had not spoken to either her or Ron in three days.

"This way, Hermione. Follow me now, Ron. Ginny. Fred and George, don't you dare apparate in the house." She heard Molly lead them back into the foyer while Remus and Alastor stayed in the dining room.

Molly led the teenagers into the large drawing room which they recognised was the meeting room where the Order held their meetings last summer. The fact they were the same meetings the teenagers tried to listen to discreetly went unsaid in Molly's presence.

Compared to what they had seen the last time they were here, the entire room was painted in neutral shades and the furniture appeared to be a matching modern set that Hermione was sure she had seen in a shopping centre once. The fireplace was closed with a tub of floo powder resting on the mantle.

"Right." Molly shouted, grabbing the attention of the teenagers. "Fred and George! Stop putting whatever that is in your brother's pocket." Ron moved away as he removed a few coloured balls from his trousers. "Hermione and Ginny, your room is beside Ron's on the first floor. Fred, George – _Stop apparating in the living room._ – your room is in the same place as last year."

"Missus Weasley," asked Hermione, "Where's Harry?"

Molly hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Harry's in his room on the third floor, dear."

" **He's already here?** " Hermione yelled, causing Ron to cringe slightly and Ginny to put her hands to her ears. Blushing at her reaction, she asked, "When did he arrive?"

"This morning, dear." Molly explained gently, not telling them her suspicions that Harry might have been coming here for days. "He showed up in the morning with Alastor. Been inside his room ever since."

 _Why didn't Harry tell me he was coming here? And why hasn't he shown up to greet us yet?_ A part of Hermione had concluded that her best friend was not really adjusting to the shifts in his life very well. He had lost Sirius less than three weeks ago and Dumbledore, a man Harry looked up to like a grandfather, had died four days ago. It was obvious to everyone that Harry was not in a good state of mind. A surge of guilt passed through her for leaving Harry alone during that period. She would have tried harder to talk to him. Still, she was here now… and Ron was going to help her. They would talk to their best friend and give him the help she knew he desperately needed.

As usual, Ron ignored all subtlety and shouted towards the stairs. " _ **Harry! Mate! You up there? Come on down. We've got things to talk about.**_ "

Hermione, Molly and Ginny glared at him in unison for the completely tactless display

Fred and George were busy casting spells over the floo powder.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, grabbing his attention. "Leave Harry alone for now. He needs his space." _Not too long though._ "We _will_ talk to him during dinner."

The tall redhead understood their points as a faint blush rose on his cheeks. "Right." Rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, he turned to his mother. "Are we staying for the summer?"

"Not exactly." The answer came from the foyer. The teenagers turned as Molly shouted "Arthur!" and stepped forward to tightly hug her husband who returned the affectionate gesture.

Moving back, Molly asked, "How was work today?"

Arthur heaved a tired sigh, and waved his wand over himself to dry his wet clothes. "More tiring than usual. Fudge is running around trying to retain his position, and the death-"

" _Arthur!_ " Molly interrupted him sternly.

Arthur blinked for a second before understanding her meaning. "Right."

Ron scowled at his mother. She always, _always_ tried to hide information from them. He wondered if his mother would ever see her kids as the adults they were. Looking at his father, he asked, "Dad! What were you saying about the summer?"

"Ah… yes." replied Arthur. "The arrangement is just for tonight. Tomorrow morning, we all leave for the Burrow. The house is fully prepared and we can't stay away from our home. Bill was tenacious at getting the wards at the place up to snuff over the past year. We'll be perfectly fine."

Ginny felt it would have been quite nice to spend time with Harry but did not doubt her mother would disagree with her. There was a silver lining to the situation. The floo seemed to be working and it would be easy to arrive here once she was done with the chores her mother would assign.

"I'm going to live at the Burrow?" Hermione questioned.

Arthur momentarily glanced at his wife. "We were going to extend an invitation to the burrow. You can have Bill's room. He stays at an apartment in East London these days. But you can stay here if you want to, Hermione."

Hermione bit her lip and frowned. She did wish to go to the Burrow and spend her summer with the Weasleys. There were a few issues to consider before she made a concrete decision. The village, Ottery was an entirely magical village and did not possess any of the trappings of modern civilisation. It would be extremely hard to make any phone calls to her family if she was staying there. Not to mention, the Black library had a whole host of books she wished to peruse. While most of the library held things she would not touch with a ten-foot pole, some of the books on spell creation and Arithmancy and Wards were really fascinating. With Voldemort now running around, she would need to learn as much as could and soon because there would be attacks and blood and – and -

"Earth to, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, snapping his cru- best friend out of her stupor. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. "Nothing really." Needing a change of topic, she said, "I'm going up to the room to take a shower."

"Right!" Molly replied quickly. "Ginny, Ron, Fred, George. Go freshen up. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes in the dining room."

Then, with her usual overzealous fashion, Molly walked towards the kitchen and Arthur followed his wife. Hermione and Ginny went up to their room to take a quick shower.

"Uh," Ron muttered in confusion. "I suppose I could go to my room, then?" He turned back towards the twins, only to find himself alone in the drawing room.

"Prats!" He muttered to himself. Giving the room one last glance, he walked up to his room, hoping to see Harry at dinner.

* * *

Almost an _hour_ later, the entire group, minus Harry, was downstairs at the dining table. On one side, Ron and Hermione sat together with Fred and George occupying the seats near the end of the table. Ginny sat on the other side of the table opposite to Hermione. Arthur and Molly sat to their daughter's left, occupying the end of the table diagonal to the twins.

Remus had left over thirty minutes ago to run a few errands for the Order and to stay away people. It was close to the full moon and the man always ensured he was locked up to prevent injuring anyone during his transformed state.

Alastor had left at the same point with a few words of caution to Molly. The man had simply stepped out onto the street and apparated away.

Hermione felt the atmosphere at the table to be a little discomforting. The twins sat in their corner and discussed matters she did not want to know. Ron was busy stuffing himself full of food and was oblivious to the atmosphere as always. Ginny appeared to be a little sullen as she ate the roast pork. Molly appeared to be extremely tensed – Hermione had noticed it since she arrived here – and Arthur appeared to be whispering words of comfort. The last scene sent a pang through Hermione as it reminded her of her parents when her mum would take dad in her arms during her grandmother's anniversary and speak softly to him.

"So are you both living here all year?" Hermione asked casually, hoping to keep some kind of conversation running. A tactic she was hopeless at, but it was the only way she knew to relieve the atmosphere at the table.

"Mostly." It was Molly who answered her question. "Si – Sirus was living alone without us. It gave us a safe place to live and he had company. Bill, though, has been spending all his free time this past year to put up wards at the Burrow."

"Oh." Hermione answered, not sure what to say. "Are the wards complete?"

"Oh yes!" answered Molly with excitement. "Bill says the wards on the Burrow are just as good as some of the more modest manors. The wards are now capable of identifying anyone within a hundred meters of the property and can take a heavy beating. I didn't understand the rest of his explanation but my boy told me we have the most protected home in Ottery St. Catchpole. Bill was always the smartest of the boys." She seemed to radiate pride.

Hermione smiled at the matriarch. Molly was always proud of her children. Well… at least, when Ron truly focused on his studies or the twins stayed away from the pranks. "Will Bill be arriving for dinner soon?"

To Hermione's confusion, Molly frowned at the question. "He should be home any second. I'm sure he must be delayed because of _certain… issues_." Her frown, if it was possible, deepened at the end of her statement.

Just as Molly finished speaking, the entire table heard noise through the door leading to the hallway. The distinctive noise of rusted hinges let Molly know the front door was just opened and closed quickly. The noise was one of the mysteries of the townhouse Molly had not yet understood. Before she married Arthur, Molly lived at Prewett Manor – the structure was destroyed, and her brothers killed in its defence, by the death eaters in 1981 - knew that all manors, townhouses and any important buildings owned by witches or wizards had hundreds of enchantments layered into the very stones. Silenced doors were so common that people barely paid any attention to the enchantment. It was the reason why Molly was mystified about the front door of the Black townhouse. Why the Blacks would want such an unpleasant sound generated by the wooden barrier was beyond her.

The group at the dining table focused on the set of _two_ footsteps and voices who had entered the townhouse and were getting closer to the dining room. Molly and Arthur gripped their wands under the table, a precaution they followed since the return of Voldemort. They knew the Black Townhouse would not allow any intruders to enter the premises but years of living in fear and paranoia during the previous war had put them on alert and caused them to flinch to unexpected noises when they left the safety of their home.

Unknown to the two adults, Ginny and Hermione had copied their actions. Fred and George were making art out of the food on their plates while Ron continued to gorge himself.

The door opened and in entered Bill Weasley, the eldest Weasley son, wearing what looked like a dragon skin shirt over a black T-shirt, brown trousers, several bracelets and a dragon fang earring, a piece of jewellery Hermione knew Molly disapproved of.

The last time Hermione had met Bill, she, along with Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, minus Percy and Charlie, were visiting Arthur at 's after Nagini's attack on his person. The memory sent a sense of foreboding through her body, causing her to suppress a minute shiver.

Shaking off the feeling, she stared at Bill as he hugged his father who had stood up to greet his son. She glanced at Molly's frown, wondering who or what had put the expression on her face. The answer to her question walked in through the open door a second after Bill had released Arthur from their shared hug.

Brown eyes widened at the sight of the tall and willowy silvery blonde young woman who appeared to emanate a faint silvery glow. She wore a blue coat over a cream shirt and blue trousers, a set of sapphire earrings adorning her ears.

"Fleur!?" Hermione exclaimed, standing up so fast her chair nearly tipped over. "What are _you_ doing here?" Her tone had a streak of hostility ringing through.

Bill and Arthur stared at Hermione in confusion. Molly seemed to simultaneously frown at the reaction and suppress a smirk. Ginny give her female friend a discreet thumbs up. Ron had stared at the new arrival for a second before returning to his plate.

Fleur stared at the bushy haired girl in confusion for a moment before realisation hit her. _Harry Potter's friend. That girl people referred to as a book… enthusiast._ If her memory served her well, this was the same girl who Victor Krum was interested in and had invited to the Yule Ball as his date. Finally remembering the name of the girl, she spoke with hesitation, "Her-my-o-ney, right?"

"Her-mi-o-nee." Hermione corrected the French veela, struggling to understand what the former Triwizard champion and French student was doing in the middle of Grimmauld Place.

" _Bill has been giving her a lot of private lessons."_ The memory of Fred and George talking about Bill and his new co-worker reminded her that Fleur worked for Gringotts alongside the eldest Weasley child. That still did not explain why the veela stood in the dining room.

Hermione continued to stare as Fleur shared greetings with Arthur, a frowning Molly and a dismissive Ginny before Bill and her moved to occupy seats on the other side of the table.

Bill sat between Ginny and Fleur as the veela shared greetings with the twins who returned pleasant smiles before returning their attention to what Hermione realised was an extremely thick journal. Based on her observation, Hermione knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Molly disapproved of Fleur and Ginny hated her with a passion she usually reserved for the most condescending boys at school. Hermione observed her red haired friend occasionally pass a silent glare to Fleur. She noticed the veela showed, or appeared to show, no signs of discomfort at the attention on her. _Probably used to it from the attention she garnered on a daily basis._

Hermione passed a glance towards Ron and was surprised at seeing him _not_ ogle Fleur. She found this oddly disconcerting as the Ron she knew would have stared at Fleur, his mouth agape and drool dripping from his lips. _He wasn't that bad._ Her mind supplied. Hermione wondered if Ron had matured after their fight at the Department of Mysteries.

"Hermione." Hermione turned to stare at Ginny who called her. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Yes, dear." Molly said, still passing silent glances towards Bill and disapproving looks towards Fleur. "Sit down, please. The food is getting cold."

Blushing at her behaviour, Hermione pulled her chair back and sat down. "What are you doing here?" She asked Fleur again, instantly cursing herself for her blunt approach. It seemed like Ron's blunt attitude had rubbed off on her over the years. _Was that such a bad thing?_

Fleur did not take any offence to the blunt question. Working with the blunt goblin taskmasters had inured to such straightforward questions. "I am working as an Assistant Artificer for the Magical Artefacts and Appraisal section of Gringotts." She knew that was not the answer the bushy haired girl was looking for.

"Ah." Hermione deadpanned, her suspicions deepening regarding the nature of Bill and Fleur's relationship. Bill was poring over a scroll he had recently opened and absently shoving food into mouth.

Clearing her throat, she asked, "I meant, why are you here, at Grimmauld Place?"

Fleur smiled at Hermione. "After I informed Madame Maxime of my desire to take up a job at the London branch of Gringotts, she asked Professor Dumbledore to find me a safe place to reside. She was worried that my… status and the _archaic laws_ of Britain would cause me unwarranted problems. After much consideration, the Professor allowed me to stay here for, in his own words, 'my safety'." She hesitated for a second. "I am sorry about his death. The Professor only spoke to me once or twice since I started living here. However, I found to be an honourable gentleman and a good man. Once, he even gave an impromptu lesson on Arithmancy." She hesitated for a moment. "I am sorry about Mister Sirius as well. I found him to be a shameless but well-meaning flirt and an excellent conversationalist. He ensured I was well taken care of and loved swapping stories with me"

Hermione was silent. A pang of annoyance went through her at Fleur's mention of a personal lesson from Dumbledore. That sentiment was quickly drowned out by sorrow, shame and guilt. Deciding avoidance was the better part of valour, she asked, "So you have been living here for?"

"Four months." Fleur replied, understanding the reluctance to talk about the deceased. _Unfortunately, I understand that far too well._ "I cannot request a transfer until my training is complete. So, I am stuck here until Christmas."

"Ah." Hermione replied eloquently. Deciding to address the elephant in the room, she gestured towards Fleur, then Bill. "So… you and Bill?"

Fleur laughed brightly. " _Non_. Bill and I are not in relationship as you suspect. We are simply co-workers. Although, the glares I receive from his female friends are rather amusing to me."

Bill was either too busy poring over his parchment and did not hear the moment or did not wish to give his two pence worth to the question.

"I'm sure it is." Ginny muttered with a dark scowl.

Fleur did not deign to dignify the comment with a response, causing Ginny's scowl to darken.

"Where is Arry?" Fleur asked. "I haven't seen him since before I left for work."

 _Damned good question and one I certainly would like an answer to_. Turning to Mrs. Weasley, Hermione asked, her previous irritation with her elusive friend returning with a vengeance. "Missus Weasley, Harry's not coming down for dinner?"

"I-uhm," Molly was flustered. She had met Harry when he arrived in the morning. To her, Harry had always been the silent kid who was far too thin for the clothes he wore and appeared to be quite skittish when attention was focused on him. During his stays at the Burrow, she had seen him withdraw from the word at times, and his attempts at eating as little as possible. Her maternal instincts had screamed her and they were not ignored. She put Harry together with the boys during chores to ensure he was in company and hovered over him during meals to make sure he ate more than his fill. One could say that she was used to Harry giving in to attempts at helping him.

This morning though… Her attempts at trying to help the boy speak about his losses had been met with cold but polite dismissal. Harry had maintained a polite but frustratingly closed off attitude during their talk in the morning before locking himself in that room upstairs. She had tried to bring him down for meals only for that blasted elf, Dobby or some nonsense, to prepare his meals ahead of time and take it to him.

Molly knew her personality was quite strong and had no qualms about reining in teenagers. Years of raising the children, the twins most of all, had provided her with an excellent disposition to handle unruly children. But Harry… his entire form looked different. It was not the new clothes or glasses he wore – Merlin knew the boy needed to wear proper clothes instead of the gross fashion sense he displayed like some of those muggles. It was the fact that during the length of their conversation, a powerful and learned wizard stood before her. She had the feeling of Albus Dumbledore standing before her, Albus Dumbledore who kept a polite smile on his face and had always done things his way, irrespective of the opinion of others.

It was why she had chosen to leave the boy alone in his room, despite her maternal instincts screaming at her to talk to the lost and hurt child. She just could not bring herself to talk to Harry like he was a child. She had stood in front of his door for several minutes but could not muster the courage the knock on the door. "He's still upstairs, Hermione. I think he might join us later…"

Fleur had other plans. "Elf!" She ordered with a loud, clear voice. In a flash, a house elf Hermione and Ron recognised stood on the table.

"Miss calls Dobby?"

Before Hermione could articulate her thoughts, Fleur ordered. "Please go and inform Harry Potter that dinner is served."

Dobby bowed, before popping away.

" **What was that?** " Hermione bellowed.

Fleur frowned at the tone. "I simply ordered the elf, Dobby, to-"

"I'm not asking about that." Hermione shouted.

Ron attempted to placate her. "Hermione, you might wanna-"

"Ronald, stay out of this." Turning back to Fleur, Hermione scowled fiercely. "How did you _enslave_ Dobby?"

Fleur scowled at the accusation. "You cannot _enslave_ a house elf. I suggest you get your facts straight from the books you seem to love reading all the time."

"Dobby responded to your words, Miss Delacour." Hermione bit out with no small amount of anger. She noticed Ginny smiling at her. "He is your elf now." The words were filled with bitterness and rage.

Fleur was indignant. "He is certainly not _my elf_. My elf is far more sophisticated than that excited child."

"You're lying." Hermione countered, angered at the girl's behaviour towards house elves.

"I have no reason to lie." Fleur's scowl deepened. "I did not, as you say, enslave Dobby. He is _not_ my elf."

"Who else could have put Dobby into the position of a slave? You must have-"

"I employed Dobby."

Every single eye turned towards the door on the other end of the room and the young man who stood before them.

Hermione breathed in sharply at the sight of her best friend. "Harry…" she breathed.

* * *

Harry walked towards the empty chair at the head of the dining table, silently observing the reactions of the table.

Fred and George had greeted him with a playful "Our silent, mysterious hero has arrived to save the day." which he returned with a smile, "Grovel more, my minions."

Arthur Weasley said an enthusiastic "Hello, Harry!" as did Bill. Ginny's eyes were riveted to him with a faint blush.

Molly Weasley stared at him with a mixture of emotions. Harry recognised a few. Relief. Hesitation. Awe. Frustration. Fear. The last emotion threw him for a loop as he could not understand why Molly would fear him.

Ron spoke with an enthusiastic smile. "It's about time you're here, mate. You were driving us spare what with the way you were disappearing and all."

"Sorry, Ron." Harry replied as he took his seat, noticing Fleur stared at him with what he knew was a calculating look. _What the hell are these women seeing that I can't?_ _I might need to look at a mirror soon._

"Harry?" Hermione asked before Ron could fire any questions. Her friend looked very different from what she remembered. He wore a proper set of shirt and trousers that actually fit him for once – God knew she had badgered him about his clothes any time she could. His aviator style eyeglasses were replaced by the rimless style with a rectangular cut. If she was being honest about it, he did look pretty hot in his new clothes and the messy hair complemented his new look. She suppressed a blush at the thought.

"Yes, Hermione?" Harry answered, looking at her as Dobby as already placed a serving of pork, potatoes and salad on his plate. Despite her initial hesitance, Molly had decided to work with the thr – two elves in the house. It was a resolution he was quite happy about.

"Why weren't you at the train?" Hermione asked, wondering what she found so odd about Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I had a few things to take care of. I told… Moody about it, and apparated from Hogsmeade today morning."

"You can apparate?" Hermione asked with wide eyes and a bout of suspicion and envy. Her words attracted the attention of everyone at the table. Even Fleur raised her eyebrows as she knew apparition was only taught to students after their OWL or equivalent exams.

Ron stared at his best friend, anger and jealousy warring in his veins. "Why haven't you told me you can do that, mate?"

Harry wore a blank look despite his amusement at their reactions. "Moody brought me here on side-along apparition."

Ron flushed at the answer. Of course, Harry would have told him already. He had to stop jumping to conclusions.

"Oh." said Hermione. "So… Those things you needed to take care of… That's what you've been doing all this time?"

A part of Hermione was extremely curious about the work that Harry was using as the excuse to avoid her and Ron, but understood that he might not want to talk about the details unless they were in the privacy of their rooms.

Another disturbing thought was the level of composure being displayed by him at the moment. In the wake of Cedric's death and over the past school year, Harry had been a veritable mountain of anger. She remembered a period where she had dragged him into a room to try to force him to talk about his feelings on Cedric's death and the aftermath. Her poorly planned attempt had caused Harry to go into a rage the likes of which she had never experienced from her normally broody best friend. After that incident, she never could work up the courage to try and talk about the matter again.

After the deaths of Sirius and Dumbledore, Hermione was expecting a Harry who would be screaming bloody murder at the world. Even Ron expected the same. She had expected a teenager ready to demolish the Ministry and Fudge in his anger. Never in her life would she have expected to see Harry sitting there without a care in the world… and that scared her more than the anger. _What if Harry's gone from us? What if he's decided on doing something he doesn't want us to know about? Is he planning to attack Voldemort by himself? Please, no! He can't. I won't let him. There has to be a way to talk to him about it without setting him off._

Harry nodded. "Yes." Wishing to turn the discussion away from his tasks, he turned to the twins. "How's the line coming along, guys?"

"We still need to finish twenty-three to thirty-seven percent of the production for eight products." Fred replied in a confident tone, "The Daydream charms need a bit of hands on work so my fellow twin and I need to handle that. That might take a while."

"Still got plenty of testing left to do." George picked up the explanation. "Lee's taking care of that part. It's taking quite a bit more time but still within our expectations. So, we might be pushing ourselves but we'll make it. It's just the Daydream charms that's giving us issues."

"Hang on!" Ron spluttered at the technical words he was hearing. "What testing?"

"For our joke shop of course!" Fred and George replied enthusiastically.

"You two were really serious?" Hermione asked in a tone of disapproval, knowing they had never listened to her or Molly. She shrunk a little when Harry shot a glare in her direction.

"Yep!" Fred returned in a jovial tone. "We even bought a place in Diagon Alley. An excellent location too. Right next door to Ollivanders'. We'll be opening in two weeks. You're all invited."

"Great job, guys!" Bill said, pride and joy in his tone. "I'll be there. If my bosses don't decide I'm needed for training the new recruits."

"I doubt it, Bill." said Fleur. "Work's been slow for the past few weeks. I'm sure you can make it." Turning to the twins, she said, "I have heard a lot about you from your brother. I am looking forward to seeing your joke shop."

"We peasants are honoured by your kind words." The twins replied simultaneously, causing Fleur to laugh.

"Where did you even get the money for it?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

Molly stared at the twins with a scowl as they had so far refused to share who gave them the money and had even swore an oath before her and Arthur that they did not steal it. She wanted the name of the lender just so she could find out who put such a stupid idea in the mind of her boys. _Leaving school and-_

"I lent it to them." Harry replied simply, uncaring of the looks Hermione, Ginny and Molly were directing towards him. Arthur and Bill were smiling softly and Fleur stared at him with the same calculating look.

"What? **You gave them money**!? Where did you get it?" Ron asked bluntly, feeling quite hurt and resentful over the situation.

Ginny tried to reach across the table to smack Ron. "From his Vault probably. More likely, it was his Triwizard winnings, dunderhead."

"But - but -", Ron spluttered. "Why didn't you tell me you gave them money? I'm your best mate!"

Harry's lips twisted in a frown. "Does the word **Triwizard** mean anything to you, Ron?"

"Oh." Ron flushed and looked away, acutely reminded of his behaviour during the tournament.

"Besides, I did not _give them_ anything." Harry continued. "I'm their silent partner. That thousand galleons was an investment in a business I knew would do _very well_. So, I now get a share of the _profits_."

"Thirty percent shareholder!" George piped in.

"WHAT!?" Harry said in shock.

"Thir-ty per-cent, Har-ry." Fred said slowly like Harry was a five-year-old who did not understand big words.

"I think he's broken, Forge." George said.

"Quite right, Gred."

"He must have gone deaf because of Hermione during their exams."

"Not to mention Ron shouting all the time-" Fred ignored Hermione's spluttering.

"-And Ginny running after him-" George ignored his sister's scowl.

"That's way too much, guys!" Harry replied after regaining his senses. "No way. I am not going to take that. Take it back."

"Well, we did have a meeting-"

"-we sent the letter and everything-"

"-but you missed it. So, Lee and us decided together that-"

"-you were getting thirty percent. Now, you have no rights to refuse."

Harry groaned. "Guys…"

"Nope!" Fred and George said together.

"Fine." Harry said after a staring contest between him and the twins. "At least let me know if you need any further help."

"Sure, buddy." George waved.

"Actually, now that you mention that, we don't need any cash right now. But you can help us out with getting the right references. Suppliers, distributers, marketers, those sorts of things."

"You can ask Gringotts for that." It was Bill who had provided the suggestion.

"Gringotts!?" The twins asked in unison.

"They didn't even give us a loan when we approached them." Fred said indignantly.

"What makes you think they'll help us now?" George added.

Bill smirked. "Because you have Harry as an investor in your business." Seeing their confused looks, he began explaining the situation, "When you first approached them, you went in as Fred and George Weasley, students at Hogwarts and members of the Ancient House of Weasley. Gringotts doesn't give loans to students. **Ever**. Not to mention the standing of our-"

"Bill!" Molly interrupted. "Don't you think-"

"Mum!" Bill interrupted harshly. "They're grown adults who are going to manage a successful business. They need to know these things, and you can't keep them in the dark forever."

The rest of the teenagers, minus the twins and Ginny, were shocked at the way the eldest Weasley heir had just spoken to his mother.

Seeing his mother withdraw her objections, Bill turned to the twins. "Where was I… Yes. The House of Weasley doesn't have a very good standing with the Bank of Gringotts. It's been that way for a long time."

"Why don't we have a good standing?" asked Ron, curious about the matter. It was a golden opportunity to learn about his family without his mother censoring every piece of information he received.

"I don't have any idea. Neither does dad." Seeing the looks of incredulity directed at him, Bill shrugged. "True. Even before we lost our wealth and seat, the Goblins never liked our family. We had sizable vaults and a couple of investments in the magical and mundane worlds but we've never even rated a full Account Manager. It's like Victor Krum being declared the ' _Best Seeker of the Decade_ ' and being ignored by the largest sports magazines and newspapers."

"Why'd that happen to us?" Ginny piped in from beside her brother.

Bill held up his hands in the universal gesture for ' _I do not know_ '. "There was no way you two," He pointed a finger at the twins, "were getting the loan no matter what you did. On the other hand, with Harry backing you, you can go up to the Goblins and ask for a _hundred thousand_ and they'd had it over like Honeyduke chocolates. From what I hear, the House of Potter is one of their most valuable clients and rates a _full time_ Account Manager. Harry can introduce your business as part of his investments and his manager can get you the references you'd need."

"I can do that?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Surely you knew that?" Bill returned, just as surprised.

Fleur stared at the young man in shock, outwardly displayed as a single raised eyebrow. According to her father, Harry was the last of his House. He would have been trained by someone to take care of his finances, would he not?

"Oh well," Harry replied, feeling awkward about his ignorance, "I don't really know a lot about those things. Dumbledore was my guardian and he was taking care of them. I only met my manager a week ago when my Family Vaults were unsealed."

Bill understood the unspoken words. Harry was now either an emancipated minor, or the Lord of House Potter. A glance at Harry's right hand revealed an empty ring finger. Plus, he knew Harry did not wear a ring during the funeral either. But that told him nothing because he knew such rings could be hidden at will. "In that case, you might just-"

"Bill!" Molly chided. "You can't ask him to do those things. He's already done a lot for us.

"It's okay, Mrs. Weasley." Harry said with a pleasant smile. "I need to learn these things anyway. Besides, it'll be good practice for the future." He had yet to go through the files provided by Gutretch, his Account Manager, and it seemed he might have to do it soon before his next visit to Gringotts.

Molly did not refute the statement.

Fleur stared at the events happening around her with a healthy dose of amusement, instances of shock and a scoop of apathy. Despite her initial reluctance and scepticism, she had come to enjoy her stay at the house. Her father had lent her one of the family elves to take care of her which had solved some of her housekeeping issues. She merely had to exercise restraint to not peek into the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix which occurred regularly. However, Sirius Black had proved to be excellent company. In the beginning, she was wary of the supposed mass-murderer because she knew of Azkaban and some of the things that occurred there through her father. The _wrongly_ convicted man had proved to a totally shameless but jovial flirt with some of the most amusing stories to share. Plus, the man was mostly immune to her allure and could talk to her face instead of her breasts, a major point in his favour. She could recognise the shadows in his eyes lessen whenever he spoke of his years at school, the pranks pulled by the Marauders and his time as an auror. He had even shared the stories of Harry's childhood. In those moments, Fleur could feel pure joy and laughter, shame, regret and anger rolling off the man in waves.

That reminded her…. "Arry?"

The messy haired young man turned towards, a smile playing on his lips because of the twins. "Yes, Fleur?"

"I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to live here." Fleur replied succinctly.

Harry was confused for a brief second before comprehension dawned on him. "Sirius owned the place, and the old dog was the one who allowed you to stay here, Fleur. It would be rude of me to not respect that. Besides, I have no problems with you living here."

"Yes, but the townhouse belongs to you now, non?" Fleur asked, then cursed herself for her less than tactful phrasing. She did not wish to remind Harry of the loss of his godfather. However, surprising her, he did not seem to be overly bothered by the allusion to Sirius.

"Debatable." Harry replied, shoving a fork full of chips into his mouth. "Technically, the house is mine… Sirius once told me he did bequeath everything he owned to me, _but_ I have to wait to know for sure. After the reading of Sirius's will, we might to move out. I have a few ideas on who can claim the Lordship for the House of Black and none of them are people we want to meet."

"Whose on the list, Harry?" asked Ron as he cleaned out another serving of chips and roast.

"Harry, don't the Potters have any properties? Any houses or buildings you could use?" Ginny interrupted before Harry could answer Ron's query. After Bill's explanation on the status of House , she did not think that Harry did _not_ have houses or even _entire buildings_ he could use.

"We… did." Harry replied, his tone uncertain. "Right now, all I have is a lot of empty land as all of the buildings were destroyed during the war. According to Dumbledore, my family were major targets for the death eaters."

"True." said Arthur. "Your grandfather, Charlus Potter, and his brother, Fleamont, were some of the most active opposition to the Dark Lord and his followers. In fact, there were rumours that Charlus Potter had forced Bellatrix _and_ Rookwood to retreat during one skirmish."

"Merlin! Your grandfather was an amazing bloke, Harry!" exclaimed Ron.

Harry shrugged and inwardly berated himself for knowing less about his family than strangers. "I did check the records for every single piece of property I have. Every single one of them are nothing but pieces of empty land that requires quite a bit of restoration and rebuilding. I could reclaim and renovate my parents' cottage at Godric's Hollow, but it's a Ministry sanctioned monument right now. That's going to be a shark to wrangle and I doubt I'll do it in time in case we lose this place. I might just buy a place in some magical village or alley, or rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the summer."

"What about your manor?" Fleur questioned the young man. Noticing the teenagers staring at her, she added, "The Potters are an Ancient House. They _must_ have a family seat, non? The manor where the Lord and his family live."

"We did." Harry answered to the surprise of his friends. "It was destroyed by the death eaters in 1980."

"Oh." Fleur pursed her lips. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Harry shrugged. He knew he should have been more bothered by the state of affairs. Everybody else seemed to think he should did, a sentiment that did not resonate with him. He had always scraped by with the bare minimum. He certainly felt no need to live in a house that twenty people could easily stay in. "It's alright." He leaned forward on the table. "Enough about me. How is it working for Gringotts, Fleur?"

Fleur frowned. "They are strict taskmasters with a focus on perfection and efficiency." A soft smile rose on her lips. "But I have learnt many fascinating things under their tutelage. Currently, I am focused on removing the enchantments on cursed artefacts and purifying them. The challenge is quite invigorating to the mind. Did you know that many such artefacts are usually sold in the stores of Diagon Alley and… Knockturn Alley?"

"Sounds interesting." Harry replied with an easy smile at her contagious enthusiasm.

Hermione watched her two best friends carefully. Ron seemed to be listening in to the conversation as he continued to finish what she knew was his fourth serving. Harry did not seem to be taken by her allure and was speaking without any trace of grief. She knew she should be relieved by that and not look for something wrong with her now eerily normal friend. But her mind was screaming at her that something was _completely and utterly wrong_ with the picture before her.

Ginny scowled at Harry and Bill's interest in that _witch_ and her stupid wiles.

"And dangerous!" Bill put in. "I wouldn't ever fancy trading my job with her." He replied with a mock shudder.

"You _willingly enter_ cursed tombs and temples!" Fleur refuted.

"With a neutralizer." Bill countered. "I don't sit _by myself_ in the middle of cursed objects that probably kill me with a single wrong move on my part."

Fleur huffed. Turning to Harry, she said, "I am currently working towards achieving masteries in Enchanting and Ancient Runes. I am hoping to become an apprentice at the Artificers Guild."

"Artificers Guild?" Hermione's ears perked up at the unfamiliar term.

Harry stared at Fleur with far more interest.

Fleur nodded, misinterpreting Hermione's words. "Yes. I am hoping to achieve an apprenticeship under one of their Masters."

"What is the Artificers Guild?" Hermione asked.

Fleur laughed with amusement. "Forgive me. I assumed you already knew of the Guild. The Artificers Guild is one of four autonomous international guilds-" Harry glanced at her curiously, "who work _alongside_ the ICW in maintaining the International Statute of Secrecy. They are also the pinnacles of education for the magical arts, or as the ICW and Guilds prefer to say, _Magecraft_. Applicants from all corners of the world are put through a rigorous screening process with three to four applications accepted by the guilds every two to three years."

Hermione devoured the new information and immediately wondered when she could go there. "What are the requirements? Do I need to gain any particular set of grades? How many OWLs or NEWTs do I have to achieve? What are the masteries I need for each guild? Do they accept applications on a per country basis, or is it on a merit based system for everyone?"

Fleur bit back a sigh at the rapid questions from Hermione's mouth. "It is like the PhD achieved from a university."

"Uni—what?" Ron interrupted.

Hermione shook her head. "It's the next level of study if you graduate with a Masters in a subject and wish to study further on the subject through research. My - I mean, muggles have those things. I didn't know the magical world had such places." She was surprised that Fleur Delacour knew about the muggle education system.

"Sheesh! And here I was thinking that Hogwarts was the end to classes." Ron whispered, ignoring the glare Hermione sent at him. "Nope! Chudley is my dream."

"Try obsession." Ginny muttered under her breath, and Harry laughed.

Fleur stared at Hermione. "To answer your questions, yes, your OWL and NEWT scores do matter but not as much as you think. The number of OWLs or NEWTs matter little. Each guild has a set of requirements that have little overlap with other guilds. For example, the Artificers Guild asks for, at the very least, two masteries in the fields of Enchanting, Arithmancy, Alchemy, Potions, Ancient Studies and a few other fields. The Battle-Transfiguration Guild requires a mastery in Transfiguration, Defensive Magics, Dark Arts, Elemental magic and over half a dozen different fields. I believe Albus Dumbledore was a Master from the Battle-Transfiguration Guild."

"There are cases where a student might be so gifted that a current Master from the guilds might choose them as a personal apprentice, thereby bypassing the application and mastery requirements. It happens rarely though. I believe the number is around one or two students every thirty years."

"Those who chose to apply must do so through the Clock Tower, the ICW equivalent of a research institute and university wrapped into one. Provided I complete _one_ of my masteries within the next year and a half, Gringotts is willing to sponsor my application."

"Sounds like your aiming for the stars, Fleur." Harry replied warmly. "I wish you the best of luck but I doubt you need it."

"Thank you, Arry." Fleur smiled at his silent praise. "What about you? Do you not have any plans?"

"Me?" Harry considered his answer, noticing the frustration had not left her eyes. He was certainly not willing to share his failed attempt at kicking the bucket, so to speak, and had, fortunately or not, returned with a new purpose and lease on life. If he did survive Voldemort, there would be time to think about his future.

Realising everyone was staring at him in open curiosity, he decided to share one of the many dreams he doubted he would have the opportunity to experience. "I want to go on a world tour after I finish Hogwarts."

Everyone at the table stared at Harry.

"I want to explore the world out there. There's more to see beyond Britain, and I want to learn about the different kinds of magecraft that exist today."

Silence.

"That's… good." Hermione articulated after ten seconds.

Fleur looked at him with a calculating expression. "An unexpected choice, Arry. I certainly did not expect it of you."

"Why?" Hermione lashed out. While she was taken aback by her friend's declaration, she would be damned if she let anyone belittle his dream. "Harry can do what he likes."

Fleur raised her hands in the universal gesture for surrender, not willing to quarrel with the feisty witch who had yet to apologise for accusing her of house elf _enslavement_. "I apologise for any offence I may have given. Arry's wish was simply surprising to me. Traditionally, most heirs were expected to travel the world once they came of age and before taking up the Lordship. However, the practice went out of fashion decades ago."

Harry shrugged. The true reason he wanted to go on the world tour was because, sooner or later, the Council would come after him and he would have to leave Britain. If nothing else, the tour would provide him with the opportunity to complete the tasks Dumbledore had set forth.

"I never really pegged you as an intellectual, Harry." Bill put in.

"Our resident bookworm is rubbing off him, methinks." George crowed.

"Too right, brother of mine." Fred added.

"Prats!" Hermione declared.

"My father went on a tour of the world." Arthur put in, a little surprised at how everyone stared at him in wait. Taking a side glance at Molly, he continued, "Septimus Weasley, my father, decided to follow the old traditions and went hitchhiking around the world. When he came back, he began working as an enchanter."

Harry hummed, noticing that the frustration he had noticed in Fleur since he arrived at the table seemed to have reached a tipping point.

"I have remained quiet, hoping you would address the issue, Arry. However, it seems that you wish to continue feigning ignorance and insulting my memory."

Harry frowned at the sharp rebuke, not expecting her frustration to be directed towards him. "What do you mean? I haven't insulted you." _Did all women like to keep men guessing?_

Fleur scowled. "You have not once addressed the matter of the letters you did not respond to."

That caught interest of everyone at the table. Even Fred and George stopped scribbling in their notebook to watch their investor and the blonde witch stare at each other, the former in confusion and the latter in anger. Ginny in particular, was staring at her with a distasteful expression.

"Letters?" Harry was thoroughly confused.

" **Nine**. **Letters**." Fleur spoke in a condescending manner, the posture radiating anger. "My _petite soeur_ , Gabrielle, wrote you **six** letters over the past year. I wrote three, hoping you would reply. And you have completely failed to reply to even _one_. Do you have any idea how bad Gabrielle felt?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it before the realisation and the truth of her words hit him, his thoughts turning to the unopened stack of letters resting in his trunk. Before he died, Dumbledore had placed a stack of letters in his palm, stating that it was the set of letters Harry had failed to receive due to the owl redirection ward placed on him. Harry knew it was just another reason to despise the old man but found he could no longer muster the necessary rage. Besides, based on the look Fleur was giving him, it would be more prudent to spend his time trying to read the letters he had unknowingly ignored.

"Uhm… Fleur?" Hermione asked slowly, not wishing to anger the witch further. "Why exactly did you write to Harry?"

Fleur narrowed her eyebrows. "Am I not good enough to write to the famous _Harry Potter_?"

Hermione gulped, before shaking her head. "That's not what I meant, Fleur."

"Why did you write to me, Fleur?" Harry asked, resolving himself to look at the letters as soon as returned to his room.

The question seemed to have caught the former Triwizard champion off-guard as she momentarily flushed before adopting her best condescending expression. "The Triwizard was supposed to promote international magical cooperation, _non_. Not only did you prove to be a worthy competitor, you also saved the life of my _petite soeur_ during the second task when I failed to." Bitterness and gratitude warred in her voice. "You also saved my life during the third task when I utterly failed to defend myself." Shame joined the war. "Is it not obvious why Gabrielle or I would write to you? I did say I would we would meet again, non.

"Oh." Was Harry's eloquent reply.

Fleur felt an irritation rising through her. _I explain my reasons and all he says is_ _ **Oh**_ _?_ "Don't avoid my question, _Arry_." she continued indignantly. "Why did you not reply?"

Harry decided diplomacy was the best tool for the situation. Adopting his best disarming smile – it never seemed to work on Hermione – he said, "Fleur, please. I am sorry for the… slight against you and your sister. Because of the return of Voldemort, Dumbledore placed an owl redirection ward on me. As a result, I did not receive _any_ of the letters over the past year."

Hermione and Ron frowned at his statement. "But you did receive letters last year mate."

Harry gave a long suffering sigh. _Is it too late to exchange my friends?_ "Dumbledore screened my mail and gave me what _he_ thought was best for me."

Looking at Fleur, he said, "I am sorry for not receiving your letters and not replying to them, Fleur. I did not wish to insult you or your sister in any manner."

Fleur stared at Harry for a long minute before judging he was sincere in his apology. "Apology accepted, Arry Potter. You shall be apologising to Gabrielle as well."

Harry nodded in affirmation and the rest of the table retreated into silent conversation.

Hermione and Ron stared at their best friend while Ginny scowled at the blonde witch.

* * *

 **Meanwhile… An Unplottable property.**

Alastor ' _Mad-Eye_ ' Moody slowly treaded towards the store room inside his tiny cottage on the west coast of the island. The small building was a well-known safe house whose location the ex-auror guarded jealously. He was _known_ , by his friends, to store his gadgets from his Auror days, several kinds of equipment he had picked up over the years and other assorted items only a paranoiac of the highest degree would keep.

Of course, one could not fault Alastor for being paranoid. Not after the life he lived and a year under the _Imperius curse_ had not improved his disposition. Being ambushed in his own home and then being put under the _Imperius_ by Barty Crouch Junior for close to a year had served to further deepen his suspicions about anything or anyone around him.

It was also the reason he did what he needed to and why he now visited this place whose purpose everyone thought they understand.

Standing in front of the store room door, he placed his left hand on the door hinge. A sharp spike of magic passed through him and the hinge _pushed_ his hand. Taking his hand off the hinge, he pressed his left hand on a spot exactly eight inches above the door knob. The door opened without any further interaction on his part.

The store room was a large chamber filled with files, newspapers, gadgets, trunks and a large shelf of vials even the Department of Mysteries would have killed to get their hands on. The walls looked like they were taken straight of out of the lair of the spy from those thriller movies that were all the rage these days.

In the centre of the room was a simple wooden table and an unopened muggle style letter lay on it.

Alastor looked at the letter and suppressed a sigh. He did not want to see that piece of stationery. He was _hoping_ they would not respond to his call. Even he had sent his request, he _hoped_ with every bone in his body to receive nothing. Fate, it seemed, loved to play with him.

 _Murphy's Law seems to be in excellent form these days. First that fiasco at the DOM. Then Albus. Now this… I really need to retire to the Bahamas soon._

Alastor walked forward and picked up the letter cover. He did not bother scanning the cover using the three dozen methods he knew of. If they wanted him dead, he'd be dead soon. Leaning against the sturdy table and placing his staff on it, he tore open the cover and removed the letter. Steeling himself, he threw the cover on the table and began reading the now opened piece of paper.

 _ **Vermin cease their gnawing and swarm to the surface,  
answering their horned master's call.  
First to fall are the temples of the Old Ones,  
Abandoned by defenders who knows the end draws near.**_

 _ **x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**_

 _ **Old friend,**_

 _ **You might have forsaken your roots, but Mad-Eye is still a name that carries weight among us. The above piece of information is all I can give you. Your choice to join the treacherous vermin instead of fighting them has led to the current state of affairs.**_

 _ **Your friend**_

Alastor read the letter twice, committing it to memory before the letter burned to ash with a flick of his finger. Vanishing the ash with another flick, he let out a breath of air.

Stretching his arms to relieve some stress, he glanced at the board to his left whose surface was littered with dozens of newspaper clippings, handwritten notes and parchment stuck using thumb pins, and threads connecting the pieces like a large spider web.

If a person _could_ land their eyes on this collection, they would understand why Alastor Moody, Hufflepuff alumni from 1934 to 1941, was the _only_ Auror in magical history to have a _mastery_ in the _Dark Arts_ instead of its defence. It would also show why he would stay as the only Auror to have such a mastery and why he had been all but forced into the position of _Master Auror_ and _Chief Instructor_ of the Auror Academy, and why he would continue to hold onto the position until the day he died, despite the fact he had never earned a _single_ OWL due to his _expulsion_ from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was only the second student to have been expelled since the Founding.

Alastor Moody placed a finger against his temple and, a few seconds later, extracted a long and _extremely significant memory_ from his mind. Summoning a vial from one of the many shelves in the room, he placed the thick memory strand in it and stoppered it with a cork.

Picking up his staff, he trudged towards a large black triangular cabinet in one corner of the room. Opening the empty cabinet, he placed the vial inside and closed the door. He drew his wand and tapped the piece of furniture at several seemingly random points. Satisfied with the brief glow emanating from the closet, he pointed his wand at his temple and whispered.

" _Obliviate."_

* * *

 **Back at Grimmauld Place.**

Harry dumped the large tome on his desk with a long suffering sigh. Ever since picking up the tome from Dumbledore's office, he had been studying the contents constantly with little periods of respite. He had poured hours of effort in deciphering the near unreadable script to no avail. He did not find even a hint of the information he was searching for.

The tome in question was a _redacted_ book on magic, one of three key pieces of literature that he knew possessed the only hints to the knowledge he sought. Once he had achieved the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore had immediately removed the book from the _Restricted Section_.

Emerald eyes stared at the piece of knowledge he had received for nearly four days of effort.

 **HORCRUX**

 _ **Of the horcrux, darkest of magical inventions,  
we shall not speak nor give direction.**_

Apparently, a horcrux was considered so dark and disgusting and vile that even the author of ' _Magick Moste Evile'_ had written nothing but a redundant line. If the author of one of the darkest books had chosen to give not a hint on the invention, Tom must have been insane even as a teenager to attempt it in the first place.

Closing the tome, he removed the silk gloves which had begun to rot after a mere half hour of interaction with the book and threw him in the waste bin situated by the desk. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the multi compartment trunk placed at the foot of the bed.

Before he left the school, he had retried the entire private library of Dumbledore and stored them in the trunk. The wealth of knowledge contained within them provided several identification and detection spells to find those abominations and a host of methods that would allow him to safely dispose of the horcruxes without corrupting the environment.

Luckily, there were no shortage of substances for the latter purpose. He even went down to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve a few basilisk fangs and placed them in an unbreakable jar under a powerful stasis charm.

"Damn!" Harry swore and stood up. He only knew of two other ways in which to obtain the information he needed and neither one was a palatable course of action. One, he needed to approach the fabled Necromancers Guild, which was impossible to find unless they wanted you to find them. Two, he had to lay on his hands on a tome from the Alexandrian Archives of the ICW secured by a regiment of ICW War-Wizards and some of the most powerful wards to ever exist.

"Why didn't you let me go all the way, Dumbledore?" Harry cursed in frustration. He understood the old man's reasons, but it did not lessen his frustration with the task before him.

" _Knowledge is a double-edged sword, Harry." said Dumbledore. "You need to exercise great caution; lest you find all you seek and lose yourself to infinity."_

He tried to clear his mind of all emotions, an exercise in futility at the moment. Maybe he should start with the first lead he received from the memories of Bob Odgen. Since he had hit a dead end, the Gaunt shack as good a place to start as any other. Besides, if Dumbledore was right, he would need time to break through any defences Tom would have placed around his horcruxes.

He felt the feel of wood on his palm and the Elder Wand manifest in his grip. The wand often felt dead to the touch. But when strong emotions coursed through him, the wand sent a vibe of power through him, a feeling of comfort and safety overtaking his mind if he let himself immerse in the sensations. Rarely, the wand _urged_ him and his magic to move, to destroy, to annihilate everything that stood in his path. The latter only occurred when his thoughts turned to Tom. It did not help that his Occlumency was nowhere near advanced enough to give him the control he desperately needed.

Ever since the day of the ritual, his mind was in a constant state of flux, attempting to both arrange his memories in lieu of the absence of the horcrux and creating autonomous mental shields – an event even Dumbledore had not foreseen – while trying to form fresh links between his subconscious mind and the vestiges of the ritual remnants, synchronising all the facets of his mind to create a non-fragmented mind, a luxury did not possess since the horcrux had first attached itself to him.

One perk he had gladly welcomed were his occlumentic emotional dampeners. Unlike his occlumentic shields which were _under construction_ , the dampeners had developed faster as a result of him _copying_ Dumbledore. It was the source of his composure, a nifty but imperfect feature of his Occlumency he was utilising to the maximum to prevent himself from apparating to the homes of the death eaters and throwing _Fiendfyre_ at the entire lot.

Clamping down his emotional dampeners, Harry took a deep breath. He had a job to do, and there was no point in grumbling. Pulling the mokeskin pouch tied around his neck, he put the restricted tome into the enlarged space and walked towards his multi-compartment trunk, a gift given by Dumbledore as an early birthday-present.

Unlocking the first compartment, he pulled out several books on advanced and obscure wards. Albus Dumbledore was a recognised Battle-Transfiguration Master, a Master Alchemist and an extremely disciplined and powerful wizard. But for all his talents, he had never been a particularly gifted in the subject of wards. According to the man, he had never possessed the temperament necessary to become a full-fledged Wardmaster.

Fortunately, the man was a gifted Arithmancer and managed to impart a significant chunk of his knowledge and provide Harry with all of his journals and research notes. He had an excellent foundation to work with and the tomes he possessed would help him along. Hopefully, he would soon deduce what _Projection_ was and how it truly worked.

 _Maybe I could ask Bill or Fleur for some help._ The thought lit up his mind… then he remembered he had to talk to Fleur about the letters as he placed the books on the desk.

There was a knock on the door.

* * *

 **Meanwhile…. Next Door to Harry's room**

Fleur continued to make changes to the arithmantic equation and rune scheme written on a thick piece of parchment.

It was a ward scheme she had been working on over the past couple of weeks. She spent weeks wondering about the path on which to obtain her mastery when she began working at Gringotts. It was there she had struck upon the idea she was now working furiously on.

Bill, like the obstinate person he was, had refused to aid her in the task. He had reasoned that creating such a ritual from scratch, on her own talents and without outside help, would ensure she obtained the entire credit for the project, _and_ it would prove to be an excellent point in her favour when she applied to the Artificers Guild. Furthermore, her work was already attracting the attention of the higher-ups in the bank who had already approached her with offers of better pay, higher rank and a guaranteed entry into the Artificers Guild should she complete the ritual.

Feeling quite tired, Fleur left her chair and fell onto the bed on her back. A hint of chamomile and roses tickled her nose. She smiled at the thoughtful nature of Iris, her house elf, for spraying her bed with the smell of flowers which grew around her home in France.

Then scowled at the thought of the young man she had first seen at the event she prepared for over the course of an entire year.

 _The Triwizard Tournament_.

It was a dream for her, and she would be damned before she let the opportunity pass her by. The winner of the tournament was considered to be the best magus of their generation and received offers of apprenticeship from famous individuals and guilds, job offers from all corners of Europe and the fame of winning the most dangerous tournament on the Continent.

Winning the tournament would have proved she was not just the daughter of the Deputy Minister of Magic of France.

And then, everything just had to go wrong.

 _Imbeciles…._ Fleur thought to herself.

 _Four_ champions in a _Tri_ wizard Tournament. If that injustice was not enough, the _fourth_ champion had to be the boy the Englishmen called the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter, a fourteen-year-old teenager and one of the most famous people in the world.

Harry Potter was not only an _underage_ participant in a tournament he had no right to participate in, he also had to proclaim to her face that he was not _interested_ in the _Triwizard Tournament_. Her blood had boiled at the slight to all her effort.

Technically, it was not an insult to her or the other champions. At that moment, however, she was inclined to see things _her way_.

To be fair, Fleur did believe Harry Potter when he told he had not put his name inside the Goblet of Fire. No teenager, _Boy-who-lived_ or not, should be able to cross an _Age-line_ of all things.

An Age-line was an enchantment, a field Fleur knew extremely well. In essence, it was two wards interspersed together, a relatively simple achievement for any person with an interest in the field. The first was a proximity ward, a bounded field encasing a set area around the Goblet in a bubble that did now allow anything not verified by the second ward from being accepted by the Goblet. The second ward was the _filter_ ; it was that which allowed the _of-age_ participants to submit their names for the prestigious tournament.

However, the simplicity of the enchantment was its greatest strength. The _filter_ analysed the magical signature of a magus. The magical signature of a magus was a record of their age whose analysis allowed the _filter_ to determine the legitimacy of a participant attempting to submit their name. The other method was to completely overpower the enchantment through pure magical strength, an impossibility given the situation at that point.

She did not care that his name had been, willingly or not, entered into the tournament. It was the fact that he represented a blemish on her dream. She had spent a year preparing for the tournament and this boy had the audacity to treat the tournament like it was of no value, like it was worthless…

She had never felt more insulted in her life, and the boy had to be _immune_ to her allure, a fact she had vehemently denied for months.

Days later, Madam Maxime informed her of the objective in the first task. _Dragons! Merde! Were all Englishmen stupide? It was-_

Fleur had sworn profusely for an hour before sitting down to prepare for the task she doubted she would survive in one piece.

During the task itself, the other two champions had demonstrated standard skills. Diggory had used Transfiguration to distract his dragon while Krum had used powerful combat-magic, albeit far more ruthless than she liked. The last champion, on the other hand, had to be different.

 _Harry Potter_ had _out flown_ the horntail on a _broom!_

 _The boy was a_ _ **stupide**_ _with a_ _ **souhait de mort**_ _._

A _stupide_ who had magical strength enough to summon an object from over a mile away, and enough aerial skill to out fly the most vicious dragon breed alive

Was there anything _ordinaire_ about the _boy?_

During the second task, the infuriatingly precocious boy had to - _just had to_ \- employ something so remotely simple like gillyweed; such a simplistic solution had not even occurred to her. After _she_ had failed to complete the task and was in a state of panic, the boy had saved her _sister_ and ignored the fact that his actions had brought him second place. The boy did not even appear to _care_ about it.

Fleur had been equally grateful and confused about that. She did not know what to think of the boy who had saved her dear sister. In the spur of the moment, she had kissed him, but was quite unsettled by the complete lack of reaction on his part.

 _After_ she had informed her father about the task and he _reamed_ the tournament organisers over kidnapping her sister, the months between that moment and the third task had been spent in observation of Harry Potter. She wished to know more about the boy who had saved the life of her sister. Any and all information she found was so contradicting she wondered if the Hogwarts rumour mill was just as bad as the one at Beauxbatons.

The third task had been no different than the second. Once again, the boy had chosen to save her from a trap in which she could have died.

Fleur sat up on the duvet. Thinking about Harry Potter only increased her confusion, and she did not like it. She knew a part of it was her guilt over treating him like an arrogant boy when he was just trying to survive a tournament he was forced in. Another part was the life-debt he had accrued from her sister, and another, more confusing factor was…

She felt another irrepressible urge to pull her hair apart. Veela were innate empaths. While it was not their defining trait, it allowed a veela to sense the aura of a person and their emotions to an extent. It allowed them to develop a _picture_ of the people they met. It was the reason why she ignored the blatant disapproval of Bill's female side of the family.

Molly Weasley gave an impression of a person who was living with fear – Fleur believed it was a factor of the ongoing war with Voldemort – and a control freak with dominance issues.

Bill's little sister, Ginny, gave the darker vibe of a girl who was used to the world bowing to her whims and would do anything to achieve her desires. It was why she had ignored her throughout the dinner.

Harry Potter… Harry Potter appeared to be a completely changed individual. When she said goodbye to him at the end of the tournament, his _picture_ was a young man who was trying hard to not fall part at the seams. Now…

Fleur felt like something about the young man she knew a year ago had shifted, like the _concept_ of Harry Potter had changed. He was still Harry Potter she met a year ago but he was… more? Or was it less… It was maddening.

Deciding on a course of action, she left her room and walked to the adjacent corridor. Harry's room, as she now knew, was on the other end of the corridor.

As she got closer, her mind whispered that she did not do such things. She did not cross normally accepted boundaries and she certainly was not interested in the silent, mysterious type.

Shoving those thoughts to the back of her mind, she stood in front of the door to Harry's room.

 _ **Do Not Enter  
Without the Express Permission of  
Regulus Arcturus Black**_

Fleur lifted her hand to knock on the door but stopped. She hesitated for a moment, before steeling herself and knocking a bit more loudly than she usually would have.

* * *

Harry got up, walked past the king sized bed and opened the knob. Despite being able to now perform magic, he still preferred to do things the mundane way.

He first noticed the bright blue eyes, almost the colour of the sky, framed an inhumanly beautiful face and silvery blonde hair. A fleeting thought of kissing the lovely lips on that face struck him before his mind supplied the identity of the person he was ogling.

Cursing inwardly about his innate reaction time – a second had barely passed – he managed to pull an apprehensive look. "Anything I can help you with, Fleur?" Absently, he noted she was wearing a sheer nightgown that hung just above her knees, and thanked the heavens it was not a see-through.

Fleur frowned at his question. "You are _all_ about helping people, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Harry muttered, silently

"It seems you only notice people when they need your _help_." Fleur continued, before placing her palm on the still open door. "May I come in?"

"Uh – yeah - sure!" Harry was nervous about the sudden visit but, nevertheless, moved aside.

"Neat!" Fleur muttered as she entered and glanced around the room. It was an understatement.

The large room was spotlessly clean and Spartan in design, considering it was the room of the owner. A study desk was situated to the wall on the other side of the bed and a multi compartment trunk stood at the foot of the bed. Fleur assumed the two doors next to the desk were a walk-in wardrobe and an en-suite bathroom.

Standing in the middle of the room, her attention turned towards the study desk and her eyes widened at the name of the incredibly _rare_ and valuable book that he was apparently studying. Turning to him, she asked, "Interested in becoming a ward master or a curse breaker, Arry?"

Harry gave her a small smile. "It's just a small project I'm working on. Did you need something?"

Fleur recognised the dismissal for it was. He would not be answering questions about his project. Then the second part of his statement hit her and she faltered. The decision to visit him and been on the spur of the moment. Collecting her composure, she said, "I wanted to talk to an old acquaintance. It has been a long time since we have last seen each other, non?"

 _And you decided that late night was the best time to do that?_ Harry suppressed the snarky reaction and replied, "That's nice. So, what do you wish to talk about?"

Fleur mentally scowled. "You are different from when we last met."

"Not a _little boy_ anymore, then?" Harry smirked.

Fleur flushed in embarrassment. "Uh - you still remember that?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck instinctively, feeling oddly warm at her blush. "I didn't try hard to keep remembering it, if that helps."

 _Zut! He is going to make me work for it._ Fleur frowned, still embarrassed about her ill-thought comment. "I was angry about everything that was occurring at the moment and-"

"Took me as your punching bag?" Harry suggested.

Fleur scowled openly. "It was not…" Sighing, she looked at Harry in guilt. "I am sorry about the comment."

"Apology accepted." Harry returned simply. He still wanted to ask why she was standing in the middle of his room at night but found it was too impolite a question to ask. _And her barging in is?_

"Right." Knowing she had to carry the conversation forward, Fleur said, "As I was saying, I could not help but notice the changes in you-"

"Changes in me? It's called growing up, you know. It happens to everyone." Harry replied in amusement, not sure where his confidence was coming from and not caring about it. Besides, he trying very hard not to blush at her attire. It took every inch of his not inconsiderable will to _not_ stare at her curves.

Fleur scowled in embarrassment and annoyance. "I am not talking about puberty."

"Then?"

Fleur decided that being blunt with boys was the only way they understand. "Your aura has changed. Your magic… You feel like the same Harry Potter I met a year ago yet I can sense you have changed. You… The concept of you have changed." Explaining the empath sense of a veela was an extremely frustrating endeavour. She huffed. "You are Harry Potter. I can sense that. But, you have changed in a manner that no person should. You cannot be Harry Potter and change in a fundamental manner that uproots the entire identity of a person. I am curious about the matter."

Harry folded his arms across his chest and smirked. Inwardly, his mind was racing. _Can she sense the effects of the horcrux?_ "That definitely sounds… interesting."

Fleur muttered a soft expletive under her breath. Throwing her palms down in what _Dudley_ would probably call _jazz-hands_ , she looked back up. "Never mind… It is difficult to explain to those who do not possess the ability. What is this pet project you are working on?"

Harry considered his answer. "One of these days, I might come across potentially warded properties and cursed objects. I need to learn how to dismantle and de-enchant them instead of destroying them a dozen ways to hell and back."

"Ah," said Fleur thoughtfully, biting her lip. Personally, Harry thought it looked rather endearing but refused comment.

"I am a fair hand at dismantling and de-enchanting, Arry." She replied exuberantly. "Maybe I can offer you some aid on that?"

Harry knew the idea had merit and he was planning on approaching her five minutes ago. However, Fleur just offered to help on her own accord and he was not stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I appreciate that." He replied slowly.

Fleur raised an eyebrow. Irrespective of the disastrous events that spanned the last school year of Hogwarts, Harry Potter had matured in ways she did not understand or expect. She wondered if she would like this version of Harry Potter.

Harry walked to his desk, pushed aside the books, took a couple of parchments and laid them out on the table. "I'm searching for a… set of cursed artefacts. I'm pretty sure the items will be located under all sorts of obscure wards and cursed enchantments. I am currently looking for a way to get them _without killing myself_."

"Are you trying for a mastery?" Fleur asked curiously, glancing through the hand drawn schematics on the parchments. The work demonstrated diligence and significant knowledge in advanced Arithmancy, far beyond the lessons taught at NEWT level.

"This is hardly insignificant work…" She murmured. "Space alteration mechanics, Magner's Modalities, Bi-linear twist equations… You are serious about the work, non?" Her finger paused at random intervals as she observed an equation or rune in detail for a few seconds. "However, you must understand, Arry, there is no general principle for the dismantling of wards. It is part study, part intuition and a lot of cross field applications you must understand on the fundamental level before you even begin to attempt the breaking of wards."

"I was trying to procure a procedure for dismantling certain ward-combinations." Harry replied, staring at Fleur with more interest than when she first entered the room.

"Intent and blood-based?" Fleur asked, still looking through the papers.

"Yes."

Fleur looked at Harry. "Forgive me for asking but… Did Professor Dumbledore leave you these tasks?"

Harry stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

"You're elf, Dobby non? He has been preparing this house for the past week, even before the professor passed away." Fleur replied, happy at solving one of the mysteries surrounding him. "Since everyone tells me that Dumbledore knew of his death, and the Dark Lord was still around, I realised that you would have been given something by the professor to help you fight the man." Truth be told, the latter was complete conjecture.

A moment later, Harry sighed. "Something like that."

"Okay." Fleur replied, happy to be proven right. There was more to discover but it would have to wait. "What are these items?"

"I really… couldn't say." Harry answered carefully.

Fleur frowned. That sort of reply usually translated to one of three things. One: he was under secrecy vows; Two: He could not reveal the information without secrecy oaths; Three: Harry did not know what those items were. Judging by his expression, it seemed to be a combination of the second and third.

She considered the situation for a minute and looked at Harry with a determined expression. "I will join you."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked in surprise.

"This… _task_ of yours, they take you into warded locations and deal with cursed items, non?" At Harry's nod, she continued, "I do not doubt the locations will not be filled with obscure wards and enchantments. You cannot learn dismantling on such short notice. It takes years to become a ward master. Let me help you."

Harry's answer was an instant " _No!_ "

"What?" Fleur breathed.

"No." Harry was resolute.

Fleur was indignant at his reply. "But… why?"

"It's dangerous, Fleur." Harry replied. "I cannot risk your life. No way I am going to let you either. Dumbledore promised to do his best to protect you and Sirius gave you a secure place to live in. There is no way I am going to compromise your safety by taking you wherever I am going."

"Why not? I am not a delicate little flower that will wilt at the first sign of danger." Fleur replied in suppressed anger. "I am better than you at enchanting and a fair hand at dismantling. I have more experience than you, and I have the next three days off from work."

"This isn't a weekend trip." Harry said in frustration. "This is - You can die in this journey, Fleur. Don' you understand?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Fleur Delacour put her hands at her hips in the typical interrogative stance. "Are you arrogant enough to think that you, a fifth year, knows more about magic than me? _I_ am offering to _help you_. Why is that so hard you to understand?"

"No," Harry replied. The offer was extremely tempting, but she would be safer without his chaos in her life. "This is my task to bear and mine alone."

"But-"

"If that is all?" Harry asked. It was not a question.

Fleur looked like she wanted to refute. "Fine!" She sneered, before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harry watched her leave with a slam of the door and sighed.

While Fleur might have been a good addition to the quest he was now on, he did not know her well enough to truly confide in her.

His parents, Sirius and Dumbledore had already given their lives to protect him. He did not want another person to die for him.

"I am the kiss of Death." A familiar vibe of power passed through him from the incorporeal Elder Wand. The sensation was oddly soothing.

 _I'm calling it a day._

The Elder Wand manifested and he flicked it towards the desk, and the books packed themselves up in a stack while the parchments and papers arranged themselves into a single folder. Placing a triple-locking-charm on the folder, he placed it in the top drawer of the desk and hefted the stack of books into his hand.

Tomorrow he would begin his hunt and, possibly, decipher the code Albus Dumbledore had given to him on the day before his death. The code was nothing more than a line Dumbledore loved to repeat.

 _Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it._

He walked up to his trunk and, opening the first section, placed the stack of books inside and locked the compartment.

On a whim, he placed his right palm to the trunk, murmured " _Mischief managed_ ", and opened the second compartment to find a single mokeskin pouch.

Picking up the pouch, Harry put his hand and drew a piece of parchment whose existence, if known to the _wrong parties_ , would invite assassination for the person or persons holding the knowledge and their closest family and friends. The parchment held five hastily scribbled lines, an extract taken from an aria rumoured to be sixteen lines. It was the prophecy which had led the Council, and the Flamels, to turn his life into a stinking pile of misery. Staring at the lines, Harry murmured them in silence, as though afraid to voice them for fear of inviting danger upon himself and his friends.

 _ **Ceaselessly they plot,  
tirelessly they agitate.  
Yet never once do they imagine that they too are puppets,  
moving upon strings they never envisioned.  
The worst is still ahead…**_


	5. Chapter 4

**AUTHORS NOTE: One important note: In the last Chapter, Fleur mentions that applicants for the Guilds pass through the Council of Masters body of the ICW. Me and my fellow author have replaced the body with the 'Clock Tower'. Explanation present in previous chapter. Important to the story and had to be mentioned.**

 **And one other point. Due to a discussion between me and my fellow author, we have yet to concretely decide the identity of the character we named Fabian. So, we have removed the name from the acting roster of Chapter 2. You shall receive the right answer as soon as we decide who Fabian actually is.**

 **A few minor edits to Chapter 3 have been added. That's it for now.**

* * *

 **June 1, 1996**

Hermione Granger had not managed a decent night's sleep. Ever since she had been admitted to St. Mungo's to treat the curse cast on her by Dolohov, her dreams had conspired to terrify her every single minute of sleep. It had taken a large regimen of potions and spells whose function she did not understand to treat her cursed flesh although they did nothing to help her with the scars and the nightmares. The healers had provided her with dreamless sleep potions for two nights before they told her that ' _too much of a good thing was bad_ '. She had spent that night cursing the healers and their idiotic morals.

Hermione's nightmares had never varied and the terror had always stayed fresh, no matter how many times she experienced them. Logically, she knew the dreams were nothing more than the manifestation of her fears which her mind in the most terrible manner it could. They were the product of the battle where she fought for her life against peop- monsters who considered killing her to be of no more import than squishing an insect under their heel. Her friends fended off assaults of the most dangerous members of the death eaters and had barely lived to the tale; she was the only one who recognised how lucky the six of them were. She understood her nightmares were simply the shock following the events and her mind was yet to recover from the trauma.

None of her arguments and logic, however, prevented her waking up in a cold sweat and screams for the first few nights. It was certainly not helped by the fact that Ron was still spacing out at odd intervals or possessing an oddly serious look she believed did not suit the red haired teenager.

Hermione's night at Black Manor had proven to be little better. She had woken up in the middle of the night, sweat soaking through her thin negligee. Taking a quick shower to remove the feeling of gunk on her skin, she changed into another negligee and shorts before falling into an uneasy sleep, sending a quiet thanks for Ginny's sleeping habits. That girl would not wake unless Armageddon arrived at her doorstep.

Waking at an hour later than she was accustomed to, Hermione performed her morning rituals without bothering to glance at the other bed in the room. Ginny would already be downstairs, probably with a plate of Molly's excellent cooking. Performing her morning rituals, she trudged down the stairs, keeping her footsteps silent before she remembered that Walburga Black's shrieking portrait was no longer present. Happy for one less inconvenience in her life, she walked into the dining hall and took stock of her surroundings, another habit she had developed since the battle, even as the smell of freshly cooked breakfast drifted through the room.

Hermione felt the dining room to be far more welcoming than it did last year, the light blue walls and sunlight flowing through the windows doing wonders for the formerly dreary home. At the end closest door, the Weasley matriarch and Arthur were seated next to each other, talking about what Hermione knew to be harmless matters regarding the Ministry. Molly would never let them hear any information that might 'not be for the ears of children'. Ron sat next to his mother and was currently eating an extra large serving of eggs, toast and ham. She opened her mouth to complain before remembering the healers mention that some of the potions in Ron's prescription would cause his appetite to increase for two to three weeks.

Ginny Weasley sat next to the father with a serving of toast and a glass of orange juice. Hermione blinked at the latter as she knew Molly usually served pumpkin juice during breakfast.

 _Dobby must have made breakfast._ Hermione's mien darkened at the thought. She had delayed asking Harry about enslaving Dobby last night because of her surprise at seeing him in a completely different light. Resolving to ask him about the matter as soon as possible, she glanced towards the rest of the table.

The only other occupant was Fleur Delacour who was seated at the far end of the table with a traditional French breakfast.

Hermione blinked as Fleur waved a good morning before focusing on her breakfast and the newspaper lying beside her. For a second, she wondered if a long lost descendant of the House of Windsor was seated there. Breaking herself out of the slight stupor, she scowled at getting herself distracted, she took the seat next to Ginny who greeted her and began serving herself breakfast.

"Ah, Hermione!" Molly, finally noticing the bushy haired girl, greeter her warmly.

"Morning everyone!" Hermione returned, before glancing towards Fleur who was now staring at her in curiosity. "Where's Harry?"

Fleur's eyebrow twitched at the question even as Ron stared at Hermione for a moment before returning to his breakfast without a word. Hermione spotted the odd reactions but chose to ignore them for the moment.

"Harry left an hour ago, dear." Molly replied. Her genial tone appeared to be quite strained. "He said he had a lot of work to do. By the time I was down here, he had already finished his breakfast and told us to not wait for him."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. While last night could be written off as an anomaly, she doubted her normally docile friend would take any initiative like Molly seemed to indicate. But, instead of the usual irritation she felt at Harry keeping secrets from her, she wondered if something was wrong and he was keeping things to himself in some asinine plan to keep them safe. Knowing Harry, that might just be the truth.

"Harry's become way too busy to talk to his friends." Ginny muttered softly though it was audible to Hermione who stared at the red head in barely concealed outrage though she could not help but agree slightly. Molly seemed to have heard Ginny as well, judging by the displeasure on her face. Hermione was not sure who or what the displeasure was directed at.

Molly sniffed before looking at Hermione. "Did you have a good night's rest, dear? I know the house is feels dreary but I do say the new paint has improved the building significantly."

Hermione's smile was tight. "I did, Mrs. Weasley." She noticed Fleur continued to stare at her subtly. "I had no problems with my sleep. The dreams tapered off by the time I left the hospital." Ron glanced at her sharply. "I'm honestly fine these days."

"That's good, dear." Molly said with happiness radiating from her. "We were all so worried about you and Ron. It's nice to hear the two of you are much better. Although I do think the hospital food didn't help all that much. You really need to take better care of yourselves from now. Oh! Go on, dear. Have your breakfast. I made the toast, dear. Added in essence of murtlap with a dash of blueberry. Really helps with migraines and dreams. My mother's remedy. I can honestly say it works rather well."

Hermione smiled at Molly. Serving herself the toast Molly recommended, she decided to ask the question that was plaguing her since last night. "Is the Order still meeting here?"

Arthur appeared crestfallen while Molly looked resentful.

Hermione, Ginny and Ron stared at the three adults while Fleur narrowed her eyes at the adults.

Molly stared at the teenagers, hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth. " _The Order._ " The table could taste the bitterness in her voice. "The Order's finished, Hermione. After Du-" She took a deep breath to stop the slight trembling passing through her and her husband took her palm to rub soothing circles. Smiling in gratitude, she continued her explanation. "After Dumbledore passed away, most of the members changed their attitudes. They felt that since Dumbledore was no longer around, nobody could stop You-Know-Who from taking over Britain. Many of them are planning to leave the country as soon as possible before they're…" She did not need to complete that statement. "Remus, Alastor, Arthur and I, along with people like Kingsley and Tonks, are some of the few members still around."

Ron was outraged. "They can't just _run away_. My friends and I fought the bloke and the arseholes who follow him. They can't run away. They're not allowed to."

Ginny stared at her brother. She had never seen him that angry. Ever. For a fleeting moment, despite the assurances from the healers, she wondered if that brain from the Department of Mysteries had left a permanent mark on his psyche.

"But…. but…" Hermione spluttered, unable or unwilling to understand the – the – the _sheer idiocy_ displayed by members of the organisation Dumbledore had established to fight Voldemort. "Ron's right! They can't just abandon the country. The death eaters won't stop at Britain. They'll destroy all of Europe if we don't fight them now. We need to stop _Voldemort_!"

The ancient wards of the townhouse sent a pulse of magic through the building, causing the current occupants to shiver at the feeling of menace and something darker. The shivers lasted a few seconds before the wards returned to a standby state.

Fleur felt a migraine at the feeling passing through her. Her veela heritage gave her a greater sensitivity to magic than most magi, an ability she considered a boon in many cases and a bane in others. The current situation fell into the latter. " _Putain de merde!_ _Ca c'ètait quoi_?"

"What was that?" Hermione wondered aloud, knowing she had just echoed Fleur's question. For a tiny fraction of a moment, she felt the wards focus entirely on her. She did not wish to repeat that experience ever again.

Ron balled his fists and, following the instructions given by the healers, took deep breaths to centre himself. Ginny knuckles were white from the force of her grip even as Arthur continued rub soothing circles onto Molly's shoulders.

Molly was frightened. "They put _his_ name under the Taboo again."

" _Taboo!?_ " Fleur asked in surprise even as her mind began to calculate the possible advantages and counters to the action.

Hermione looked from Molly to Fleur and back again, knowing she was missing something. "What's a taboo?"

"It's like a tracking charm," Molly replied, "which allowed You-Know-Who's followers to find anyone who used his name. They managed to find many of the Order members during the last war. It was how-"

Molly stopped her explanation midway, as mortification, guilt, anger and sorrow warred in her heart. She quickly walked out of the room, knowing she would lose her composure and show her weakness in front of the kids.

"What just happened, Dad?" George asked after a few seconds of silence, unsure what to make of his mother's behaviour.

"Is mum going to-?" Fred began, but his father gestured stopped him with a wave of his hand and sighed.

"Mr. Weasley?" Hermione spoke slowly, wondering if she had dredged up bad memories with her question. She did make the mistake with Harry several times over the course of their friendship, especially when she asked him about his life with the Dursleys.

"The Taboo is very old magic. In fact, before the last war, many of us did not even believe it existed." Arthur explained in a state of vexation. "The closest equivalent I can think of would be the 'Trace' placed by the Ministry on your wands to detect the use of underage magic. However, unlike the general nature of the 'Trace' which simply locks onto a wand and detects magic in the area around it, a 'Taboo' is a tracking and identification charm cast on You-Know-Who's name. You see, once the taboo was cast and in effect, every time a person uttered _his_ name, You-Know-Who and the death eaters could find the speaker immediately." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Dumbledore always stated that fear of a name increases fear of a thing itself. As a result, most of the Order members called You-Know-Who by his given name."

The teenagers were hanging onto his every word while Fleur seemed to trace unknown symbols on the table with her fingers.

"Once you uttered the name aloud, the _Taboo_ ," Arthur's voice dropped low in anger, "would shatter through the wards and protective enchantments that surrounded the one who uttered his name aloud. Except for those who were under the strongest wards, like the Black wards you just felt, or the Fidelius, the Taboo would find you and mark you in some manner that could not be removed. Even if the death eaters could not get to you immediately, the mark placed on you made sure that they could find you later. We lost people by the dozens to the Taboo until Dumbledore figured out how they were finding us and informed the Ministry and the public."

Hermione looked mortified. "That means I have a _mark_ on me that will allow the death eaters to find me?"

Arthur sighed. "No, Hermione. You don't have a mark on you."

"But you just said that the Taboo will mark-"

"It usually will place a mark on you but not in this case. You should thank Harry for that. His choice to utilise the Black war wards instead of the standard protections saved the lives of everyone here, including you. The tremor you felt from the wards was the Taboo _bouncing_ of them. You don't have to worry about the matter anymore."

 _So that was why…_ Hermione mentally chastised herself for her recklessness and ignorance. She had always thought Ron and the rest of the school was simply too scared to speak Voldemort's name, an action she considered quite foolish. It had never occurred to her to ask an actual adult to explain the matter to her. _So much for trying to improve Ron and Harry. I need to improve myself._

"But Mister Weasley," Hermione asked, "Vol-" She quickly stopped herself from uttering the word. " _His_ _real_ name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Shouldn't the taboo not work for a false name?"

"Hermione's right, dad." Ron added. "We learnt of his real name in second year."

"That's because a Taboo can be placed on more than just a name." Fleur spoke, surprising everyone at the table. She filed the information on Voldemort's real name and decided to enquire information from the father during the next call to her family. "The Taboo is a highly complex, obscure and esoteric ritual used to turn _any_ word into a beacon. It does not matter if your Dark Lord is named _He-Who-has-no-dick_." Arthur choked, the twins held back laughs and Ginny scowled at the veela. "The Taboo is cast on the word chosen by the caster himself. It can even be cast on a word like 'breakfast' and will function in the same manner, provided the caster fulfils certain extremely specific requirements. The only factor that matters once the ritual is performed and the Taboo cast, is the range which is determined by the anchor to which the ritual is tethered."

Ginny absorbed the information even as her annoyance mounted. "If you're so knowledgeable, why don't you remove it? It would make all our lives easier."

Fleur stared at the red haired female as though she were an insect and was correspondingly dangerous. "If you have ever read information on the subject, you would know that a Taboo can be only be removed when the anchor is destroyed, or if the caster revokes the ritual. I certainly do not see your resident dark lord removing such an advantage, do you?"

"Is there no other way to remove the Taboo?" asked Hermione, determined to comb through the Black library to find a solution.

Fleur shrugged. "Those are the only solutions I know of. Some of the oldest magical houses or masters from the International Guilds would know more on the matter." Turning to Arthur Weasley, she asked, " , is the Taboo the true reason the Potters and Longbottoms went into hiding for months?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You know about that?" The question also informed her of the fact that Fleur did not know about the prophecy.

Fleur's expression had a fleck of indignation. "Of course I do. The British civil war was the most significant event in Europe in the past twenty-five years. Not to mention the near destruction of the Ancient House of Potter and the Most Ancient House of Longbottom with Harry Potter as the sole survivor of one and a Mr. Neville Longbottom the other. Any matter relating to such Houses are always of great interest to the international community."

Hermione surprised, though she noted Fleur's lack of accent when she pronounced Harry's name. "I thought that Harry was only famous because of the Boy-Who-Lived business."

Fleur laughed. "You are such a dummy." Ignoring Hermione's indignant expression, she said, "The Houses of Potter and Longbottom are some of the oldest houses in the magical world. The members of such families are protectors of the ancient traditions and knowledge passed on from their ancestors. The ICW looks very poorly on the loss of such houses. It is one of the reasons why Grindelwald was so hated. He was responsible for the destruction of dozens of European houses during the madness he called a war." Her tone, by the end of the explanation, was filled with anger.

Fleur had not spoken of the scars still left behind by the slaughter perpetrated by Grindelwald, the man referred to by the French as ' _Le Monstre_ ' for his impeccable skill on the field of battle and, more importantly, the truly ruthless manner in which he dealt with the old families. Even slavery had run rampant during the war with veela being prized for both sex and sport. The nightmares of the war were still present decades later as many veela preferred the safety of the enclaves in lieu of the world outside, an action that has only emboldened slavers to try and capture them.

Ron and Ginny, for reasons unknown, were far too quiet.

"What about your family?" Fred asked, breaking Fleur out of her thoughts.

Fleur's smile was strained. " _Non_. The House of Delacour is a Noble House. We achieved our status due to my paternal grandparents' accomplishments during the war against Grindelwald. We would be considered _nouveau sang_ , new blood, by the older houses."

"We are part of the older houses too." Ginny spoke up. "The Weasleys are an Ancient House like the Potters."

"We _were_ an Ancient House." Arthur intervened, an undecipherable expression on his face. "The Weasleys were booted out of the Wizengamot, and stripped off their seat, after my grandfather did something… _unforgivable_."

Hermione wanted to further enquire on the matter, but something in Arthur's expression that forbade her from doing so. Clearing her throat, she asked, "I've gone off topic. Does anybody where Harry has disappeared to before the house could even wake up."

"You could ask that excitable elf of his." Fleur pointed out.

 _Of course._ Hermione muttered a soft expletive under her breath, before she called, "DOBBY!"

With a pop, the elf stood beside Hermione, wearing a mismatched coat, shirt and trousers with a towel on his shoulder, and stared at her with bulbous eyes. "Master's Grangy calls for Dobby?"

Hermione placed her hands at her hips in typical interrogative fashion, and completely ignored the way the little creature had _objectified_ her in terms of _Harry Potter's possessions_. "Where's Harry, Dobby?"

The elf shook his head. "Dobby is forbidden from giving an answer."

"What?" Hermione nearly screeched, before she somehow calmed herself. "Dobby, Harry might be _in danger_. You _need_ to tell me where he is."

"Master said that Master's Grangy might say that." Dobby replied with a composed air before shaking his head sagely. "Dobby cannot reveal Master's location."

"But…" Hermione sputtered. "It's important, Dobby. Harry might really be in danger. He could get himself killed."

A shadow of fear passed over the elf's eyes for a moment. Nevertheless, he repeated. "Dobby is forbidden from answering."

Hermione felt a nerve pop in her temples. Deciding a roundabout manner of questioning might yield better answers, she asked, "Very well Dobby, can you tell me if Harry _is_ in London?"

The elf looked at her oddly. "Master is not in London."

"Is he outside Britain?"

Dobby shook his head again.

 _So he's still in the country. That leaves…_ Hermione's eyes lit up. "Is he somewhere he has been before?"

Dobby paused for a second before nodding emphatically.

Hermione's eyes shone with accomplishment. "Is he at Privet Drive?"

Dobby shook his head.

"The Burrow?"

Another shake.

"Diagon Alley?"

Shake.

"The Ministry of Magic? Hogwarts? The Forbidden Forest? The Black lake? Anywhere on the grounds of Hogwarts? Hogsmeade?"

Dobby shook in denial to every question.

"Harry hasn't gone anywhere else." _Unless he never told me about it._ " _Where is he?_ " Hermione nearly screamed in frustration.

"Dobby cannot say."

Hermione suppressed the overwhelming urge to smack the elf, but thought better of it. Dobby did no wrong. The smacking was better reserved for her annoying, wayward best-friend if and when he managed to return home.

"Master Harry," Dobby paused for a moment, "left something for you."

"Oh." Hermione replied in surprise. "What is it?"

Dobby pulled a piece of parchment from one of the many pockets littering his coat and held it towards Hermione who nearly snatched it out of the elf's gangly fingers hands.

Hermione turned the parchment over to read the message.

 **Hermione,  
I had to go out early to take care of some work. The tasks I mentioned to you last night. Be back before you guys leave. Don't forget to feed my fish.  
Harry.**

" _Fish!?_ " Hermione asked incredulously, as she looked at the other occupants at the table. "Since when does Harry have fish?"

* * *

At a mere glance, the now abandoned ancestral cottage of the Gaunts, located in Little Hangleton on the outskirts of Yorkshire, was a faded, dreary and gloomy piece of architecture. It was the by-the-book definition of a classic 'cottage in the woods'.

The ancient cottage, whose history stretched back to the late fourteenth century was set on the outskirts of the quiet little village, at the end of a narrow potholed muddy road amidst a dense grove of trees, brambles, bushes and hedges. The old, rickety, half-collapsed building with several holes in the roof, torn off windows, decayed front porch and a dead, rotted snake nailed to the front door with a single nail through its head. Despite the late morning sun, the entire copse was illuminated with the barest of sunlight due to the dense grove surrounding the house, creating a gloomy look that would not be out of place in a witch's house as spoken of in fairy tales.

Harry believed the location was quite unsuited to be the location of a home were a family could live. Not only did the grove ensure very little light was received, the only way in and out of the copse of trees was the narrow potholed muddy road he had walked to reach what could be _respectfully_ called a hovel. It was definitely a queer and, in his honest opinion, choice to build a home in the middle of the woods. Though he had admitted he had limited experience in living in a home anyway.

The Burrow, the most bizarre home he had ever stayed in, was certainly not a standard Harry could use to judge the quality of a home. According to Ron, the entire house was built by their grandfather before Arthur married Molly Weasley. The house disregarded the rules of architecture – not that Harry knew many of them or even a single one. He just assumed that magic involved meant a total disregard for the basic laws of physics – and the Weasleys felt it was utterly normal due to their upbringing. He had once searched the entirety of The Burrow to find any signs of plumbing and came up empty handed. If that was not strange, the ghoul in the attic certainly was as any sensible person he knew would have tried to banish it as quickly as possible. Then there were all the other details like the family clock, the stairs changing colours from time to time and the quidditch pitch which adjusted in size to the number of players present.

The only other house he could use as a reference was Number Four and, as far as he was concerned, it did not qualify as a home. Not only were the Dursleys slobs of the highest degree and gave him the biggest list of chores he had seen at the beginning of every summer, he had never felt safe or happy during his stay at their home – feelings that Harry felt should be associated with a home. Not to mention the neighbours who opinions were poisoned against him and the bullies he had to regularly avoid or fight off. That was not a standard either.

The Black townhouse at Grimmauld Place was the only other reference he had which was of no help either. Liberal use of space expansion charms and illusions on the outside ensured the building, from the street, looked like every other apartment on the block and the inside had more rooms than was humanly possible. Harry believed it had the air of an aristocratic mansion of the darker variety and was not a place he could have lived in for long. He clenched his fists in anger, knowing that he had echoed Sirius's thoughts. Sirius hated the townhouse for as long as he lived there, despised the nature of his family and was all but ready to leave if Dumbledore had not held him back.

Harry barely noticed as his magic rose in response to his thoughts and the ancient wand in his right hand hummed with vigor, asking, telling, commanding him to let himself go, to bring destruction on his foes and drown the world in blood and agony. His grip on the wand tightened and, unconsciously, moved the tool of destruction in the motion for a blasting curse.

A twig breaking under his foot snapped Harry out of the stupor. He slashed the wand away from the hovel and flicked it towards the ground, the magic on the tip bleeding away as the prepared spell dissipated. He felt the wand send a feeling of displeasure through him and return to its normal inert state.

Harry rubbed his eyes with his left hand. Thoughts of home and hearth always reminded him of Sirius and his unhappiness during his stay at the townhouse. He clamped down on his occlumency, both shields and dampeners, to prevent his feelings from moving in directions that would not bode well for his surroundings.

Turning his attention to the hovel laying thirty feet away, Harry decided that he had no standard of normalcy for a home. He rolled his shoulders and back to relax his joints from standing in the same position for nearly an hour. Glancing at the grove surrounding the hovel, he briefly wondered if Riddle was truly the most powerful dark lord in history.

According to the notes provided by Dumbledore, there was a very high possibility that Tom had used the murder of his father, Tom Riddle senior, to create a horcrux and, once the ritual was complete, had placed the newly created horcrux in the Gaunt shack whose location was safeguarded by the Fidelius cast by Tom himself. Tom made his uncle, Morfin Gaunt, the secret keeper of the Gaunt shack, obliviated him of the knowledge that he was a secret keeper and framed him for the killing of Tom Riddle senior. Morfin Gaunt had died in Azkaban last Christmas but not before Dumbledore managed to find the man and coax the few necessary clues to a possible location of another horcrux of Tom's.

A part of Harry was greatly pleased at finding the shack to be lightly guarded. Another part of him, a smaller part, was extremely disappointed with Tom Riddle.

From the lessons on bounded fields - wards, protective enchantments and ward-breaking - Dumbledore had subjected Harry to prior to the headmaster's… _death_ , students of the esoteric arts understood the single most important point of the Fidelius: It did offered protection by concealing the chosen secret – The list included incorporeal items like information or corporeal objects such as specific locations – on an entirely different layer of reality. The closest analogy one could use was a pocket dimension which contained the secret concealed by the Fidelius. The secret, once concealed, is tethered to our reality through the secret keeper who acted as the anchor, connecting the pocket dimension and the secret within to the plane of earth.

However, despite the _absolute protection through concealment_ offered by the Fidelius, it possessed a few glaring flaws. The first flaw was the nature of the Fidelius itself. Due to the inherent differences between the reality of the Fidelius and the reality of earth, any location under the Fidelius could not be placed under traditional wards or protective enchantments due to the interference of the Fidelius field. The other flaw was the inherent requirement for the Fidelius when placed on a location housing people: the people present within the field must place absolute trust in the secret keeper and, in return, the secret keeper must be prepared to protect the secret with his or her life.

According to Dumbledore who had patiently explained to a fuming Harry, the latter flaw was the reason the Fidelius in Godric's Hollow fell during the Halloween attack of October 1981. Here, the specific wording of the Fidelius came into effect: _James Potter and Lily Potter lived at Potter Cottage in the village of Godric's Hollow_. The moment the information imparted by Pettigrew to Tom caused the death of James, the Fidelius had ceased. The secret specifically spoke of a James Potter who _lived_ at the Potter cottage. The moment James died, the secret was now a falsehood and, since the Fidelius had determined Pettigrew was the cause, the entire esoteric field had collapsed, an event that would have destroyed the cottage if not for the safety charms embedded into the field by Lily herself.

Harry had spent the next hour in the Room of Requirement, bleeding off his anger in a vortex of spellfire at the realisation that his parents had placed their _absolute trust_ in Peter fucking Pettigrew, the monster responsible for their deaths.

The situation of the Gaunt shack showcased another flaw of the esoteric charm. The death of the secret keeper, Morfin Gaunt, had caused the Fidelius to dissipate and the Gaunt shack now part of the reality of earth once again.

Harry had spent two days, including this morning, analysing the wards present on the shack. He surmised, and Dumbledore would have agreed, Tom must have placed the Fidelius attuned wards after he returned to Britain during the latter part of the 1960's.

Harry, thanks to his usual run of luck, received both good and bad news from his analysis of the wards which still remained after the fall of the Fidelius charm. The good news was that most of the wards were either inert or in tatters which greatly reduced the work of dismantling the still active defences. The bad news consisted of the fact that all the active wards were in parseltongue. Harry sighed at the knowledge he had to dismantle wards made of a language he barely spoke and whose abilities he barely understood.

Conjuring a piece of parchment, Harry cast the last set of identification charms and analysis spells and cast the translation charm to transfer the results to the parchment. The parchment glowed for a moment before the results, written in runic script and what he had now come to associate as arithmantic equations appeared on the material in black ink.

Harry placed the parchment on the three-foot-high stack of such present beside his left foot and sighed. He _could_ take down powerful intent wards with a single wave of his wand. His high quality magic circuits and the huge amount of prana they generated provided him with more than necessary strength to break through bounded fields in the form of a magical battering ram. The knowledge imparted by Dumbledore prior to his death gave him a solid grounding in the nature of wards, ward-breaking and rudimentary dismantling techniques, skills the headmaster knew would be needed in the coming months. At the moment, Harry could, with complete confidence, declare that he could ascertain the weak points of traditional ward schema without issues.

 _But these aren't traditional protections, are they?_ Harry tied the stack of stack of parchment containing the ward schema with conjured rope, placed an impervious and unbreakable charm, shrunk the lot and placed them inside the pocket of his trousers.

Harry knew the only reason he had not cast an overpowered curse at the wards to simply destroy was because he had no idea if the wards would alert Tom of the intrusions. The parseltongue nature added an entire layer of complexity to an already difficult job and that was without taking into consideration any enchantments placed on the shack, and the horcrux itself.

Harry had no choice but to set about the job of analysing and then carefully dismantling the wards in a manner that would not alert Tom or, if his usual brand of luck held, turn the situation a hundred times worse. The biggest problem he currently faced was his lack of knowledge on advanced warding techniques, knowledge he would need to get through the protections placed on the Gaunt shack.

 _I could ask Hermione to help me-_ Harry stopped his thought midway. The Elder wand vanished as he rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his neck. Hermione was the person he always relied on to find solutions to the myriad number of problems that usually plagued him. She would offer her help on any matters he could not decipher even when he did not ask for her help. His lips twisted into a sneer directed at himself.

 _You've always deferred to her. Remember. She figured out that Slytherin's monster was a basilisk. She had forced you to create the DA. She helped you prepare for the Triwizard tournament. She forces you and Ron to study and better your grades. Face it, bloke. You rely on her far too much._

Harry hated his mind when it supplied answers he did not wish to hear. Besides, even if he truly wanted to ask her for help, it would yield nothing. The horcruxes were meant to be kept a secret and the wards and enchantments he needed to dismantle were beyond NEWT-level, a field even Hermione would not understand yet.

With all the new revelations provided by Albus Dumbledore in his life, Harry was extremely hesitant of involving anyone in his endeavours, even a friend like Hermione who had stayed with him since his first Halloween at Hogwarts. He did not need to involve anyone in the mess called ' _The life of Harry Potter_ '.

 _What about Fleur?_ Harry's mind supplied. _She_ _ **offered**_ _to help you._

Harry shook his head. Fleur did offer to help him in his tasks which, if he was being honest with himself, was a godsend especially when considering his luck rarely played the right cards. She was a professional and, by her own admission, was good at dismantling wards. Fleur had also proved to be quite intelligent when she had easily understood the arithmantic equations and ward schema he had been hard pressed to comprehend. While he was confused by her actions on offering said help, it did not necessarily mean she had Machiavellian intentions on his person. She might have offered her help in return for Harry saving her sister, a sister he doubted was in danger as the Triwizard officials or Dumbledore would have retrieved her from the merfolk after the event was complete.

Harry ruthlessly suppressed the thoughts. His mind was well on the way to convincing him into accepting Fleur's offer of help. He could not involve her without putting her in danger that he doubted even he could escape from without the added difficulty of trying to protect another person. _I will not ask for help._

 _You don't have to._ Harry's mind offered. _Fleur offered of her own volition. All you need to do is accept._

 _No. She will be in just as much, if not more danger than my friends._

 _You remember the stories Dumbledore told you. You think the death eaters will leave her alone? She's a piece of meat as far as they're considered. In fact, she'll be safer with you._

 _With my luck, she'll be out of the frying pan and fall right into dragon fire._

Harry's emotions warred with each other as his mind tried to convince him of one path and his heart another. As the war continued, his _ridiculously_ powerfulmental defences flexed, the dampeners and shields clamping down hard on his emotions and thoughts.

Harry recovered himself a moment later when his mind returned to a normal state of affairs. Inhaling sharply, he closed his eyes to reign in his irritation.

Ever since Dumbledore had performed the ritual on Harry to narrow the gulf between himself and Tom, Harry had cursed himself several times since the headmaster died.

Harry had flinched during the ritual due to a moment of fear and indecision and the ritual had exacted retribution. He did achieve the knowledge and power as promised but, due to his hesitation, the ritual had fractured his mind in the process of creating his mental defences. This had the added benefit of the newly developed habit of talking to himself as his fractured mind now behaved like another personality infrequently. He never been possessed by such a habit before and it was quite embarrassing to argue with himself.

According to the notes left by Dumbledore, there were cases where the ritual was also capable of repairing fractured minds over a period of many months. At the moment, Harry was hoping that it was true and his mind would fix itself soon. He was tired of spacing out, talking to himself and all the other odd habits he had developed since.

Harry patted the trouser pockets where the stack of parchment. The arithmantic equations would be a bitch to analyse but he was sure he could finish the work in time.

 _Could just ask Fleur for her help._

Ignoring the repeated suggestion of his mind, Harry stepped back a couple of yards and, with a parting glance at the shack, pulled his cloak of invisibility over himself and apparated away.

* * *

Harry stood before the front door of the Black townhouse and clutched the wall beside. Magical forms of travel still hated him as even his frequently practiced apparition caused dizziness and nausea. Though, in his defence, the unpleasant feelings barely lasted five seconds.

Collecting himself after the nausea had passed, Harry opened the front door and walked in, making a note to tell Dobby to silence the door as he found the noise to be quite grating on his nerves.

The noise generated by the front door was drowned out by the cacophony of voices Harry heard from the parlour. Entering the room, he found it containing the brand of chaos he was usually entertained by.

The Weasley family was clustered around the floo as Molly Weasley directed her kids in the manner of a general. Six trunks, fully packed and prepared, lay in a clutter on the floor. The arrangement reminded Harry of the game 'Tetris' that Dudley once played on one of his latest consoles.

Harry found Molly to be uttering some last minute instructions to her children on floo safety and the proper pronunciation. Ron and Ginny seemed to pretend to pay attention to their mother even as their fingers twitched nervously. Bill stood by the trunks and was waving his wand over the lot, muttering incantations under his breath. He nodded towards Harry without a pause in his incantations.

As he stared at Ron, Harry wondered if he should speak to him. Ever since Dumbledore's death, he had avoided talking to those closest to him as much as was humanly possible. He needed to avoided them as all of them would start pestering him with questions that he did not have answers to. Ron would nag him on not visiting him or Hermione in the hospital, Ginny might just hex him and Hermione… Hermione would pester him about every single aspect of the past week and he doubted his ability to release himself from that conversation without tripping over his words or letting his temper get the better of him.

Harry could not involve them in matters that were quite frankly far beyond their ability to handle.

 _Treasure it, Harry. Information is your most powerful weapon. Right now, in this moment, there is no better piece you possess than the information you gain. Treasure with only less intensity than your own life._

Dumbledore had been very clear on the matter. In the world in which Harry was now involved in or would soon be, information was extremely potent and was treated with extreme care and caution.

A part of Harry felt glad that Hermione and Ron were leaving. They had a summer, and two more years of Hogwarts to look forward too. On the other hand, he…

 _It would take a miracle to survive the summer… even if the Council chooses to target me._

Dumbledore had extracted a promise from Harry; that Harry would, when weighed against the world, value his own life and those he cared for with a greater value. Dumbledore had all but begged Harry survive and survive he would.

Harry felt the Elder wand hum in pleasure as the longing for battle, death and destruction drift through him.

 _I'm not going to destroy the world just so that I might live. I'm not Tom._

The wand of elder wood became inert once again but not before radiating an emtion Harry knew the wand had come to associate with him on a regular basis.

 _Displeasure._

Feeling quite joyous at resisting the temptations of the wand, Harry walked towards the floo as Molly spotted his arrival.

* * *

Even before she became the formidable matriarch of the Weasley family, Molly Weasley nee Prewitt had always been boisterous and forceful, even if she only admitted the latter to herself. Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, her brothers, had often made fun of her tendency to quite abrasive towards those she disliked as well as her tendencies to care for those she considered her family. She had weathered constant teasing from her friends and family for her inability to not care for those who suffered.

It was, perhaps, her propensity to care for those who suffered that caused her to care for the orphan everyone knew as Harry Potter. From the moment she had first met the child, Molly had instinctively taken up the role of a doting mother. When she first laid eyes on the boy, she knew something wrong from the way his glasses seemed to be tied together with some primitive cloth to the too large clothes he wore. When Ronald mentioned that Harry did not expect to receive presents, she sent off an extra sweater to ensure he felt like he was part of the family. Merlin knew the boy needed to feel like he belonged. She had never liked the fact that Harry had been present on the platform without even basic directions to reach King's Cross.

Over the years, Molly encouraged Ronald to invite Harry every summer to stay at The Burrow. The home might be a little small but Harry could sleep without having to worry about his next meal or chores. When the twins had informed her of the bars on his window, it had taken everything she had to not just apparate to those horrendous muggles and introduce them to her wand.

It was the reason why Molly never assigned any chores to Harry. However, despite her protests, Harry would help with the chores around The Burrow. It would have heart-warming to see such a helpful boy if she did not know about the conditions the boy usually suffered at home.

Unlike what people usually assumed about her, Molly was smart at understanding things. She might act overbearing from time to time or force her decisions onto her children but it was always in their best interests. The last war had deprived her of her birth family and she had continued to live in fear of losing her husband and kids for years before she managed to live a normal life. Over the years, she had also noticed many of the orphans who were adopted by _certain_ families behave in a manner similar to Harry.

Molly knew the wizarding world had a fair number of problems and abuse was one of them. Abuse of children was present in her world though it was usually well hidden behind the privacy of thick walls and closed lips. She did try to help such children whenever she could spot the signs as she could not call the aurors on the family and deprive the children of any possible stability. Instead, she usually sat down with the family and had strong words with them to, at the very least, ensure better living conditions if not the love they hoped to receive.

But for all her efforts, Harry had never truly responded to her attempts. Molly wondered if he did respond better to his friends and pretended to be an unresponsive child before adults as he no longer trusted _them_ to _do the right thing for him_.

 _Then again, living with abusive muggles during one's formative years would do that to anyone. It is a downright miracle that he did not turn into a bitter old soul like Severus Snape._

Over the years, Molly made several attempts at trying to convince Dumbledore to allow Harry to stay at The Burrow every summer instead of allowing the boy to return his wretched relatives and returned home frustrated every time Dumbledore declined her request in a polite but firm tone. She did thoughts of simply taking the boy away from the muggles no matter the opinions of a school headmaster but was cowed by the incredibly intimidating warning he had later sent her via owl mail.

Molly wanted Harry to live in this world, _his_ world where magic was real and people care about him. She had never shared her husband's _insanity_ for all things muggle. While she was not a Lucius Malfoy, she was a born pureblood and was raised the traditions of her forebears. The bigotry faced by half-bloods and muggle-borns was an injustice and she firmly believed they should be granted the same opportunities as purebloods. But she was also a firm advocate of the Statute of Secrecy. Muggles and Magicals would never truly understand each other no matter the amount of time they would spend on the endeavour. It was why she was so eager for Hermione to stay at The Burrow during the school breaks. Talented witches like Hermione had no business with muggles.

Harry, however, had proven to be an extremely obstinate boy who all but refused her attempts to fully integrate him into her family. And her last meeting with the boy had not turned out the way she had expected. Harry had completely rebuffed her, in a polite manner, and then proceeded to do what he wanted without so much a word shared with her or any other adult. She would have put her foot down if not for the death of his godfather and Dumbledore's passing, not to mention Harry was now surrounded by the air of a wizard who had found his path and would do everything necessary to not stray no matter the opinions of his family, friends or strangers.

The sounds of footsteps alerted Molly, causing her to turn only to find the very boy she was thinking of. She was happy to see Harry finally dressed properly though his hair seemed as untameable as ever. The only point that now disappointed her was the fact that Harry no longer seemed receptive to her orders.

"What's going on, Missus Weasley?" Harry asked after greeting Ron and Ginny.

Molly opened her mouth once, took one look at green eyes that seemed far too old, thought better of it and closed her mouth. A few seconds later, she said, "We… that is… Bill has finally finished the wards at The Burrow. So… we're leaving now, Harry dear."

"Oh." Harry replied, his head tilting sideways for a moment. His expression shifted. "But you are welcome to stay here as it is. There's plenty of space."

"We…" Molly felt the flush creep up her cheeks. "We cannot possibly- Besides, it is time we return home. It's been months since… I have... missed The Burrow."

"Oh." Harry guessed that must be how people felt when they could not go home for months. Staring at the guilty but eager look on Molly, he wondered if would ever feel like she did, yearn for a place so badly that he could not wait to return to it.

Molly had only shared a part of the truth to Harry. The Burrow was her home and she did miss staying there but there was another reason she badly wanted to move out of the townhouse.

The House of Prewitt, her paternal line, possessed the ability of passive magical awareness to a near superlative degree. Her brothers were masters of the art with Fabian and Gideon able to pinpoint a single individual in a mass of hundreds where magic was so densely packed it would be hard to differentiate one witch or wizard from another. It made them formidable duellists and hit-wizards and provided them with an extremely useful in their battles against the death eaters. Her brothers had shared more than one story where the death eaters had tried to ambush them only to be ambushed in turn. Molly always felt a deep sorrow at their memories tempered by her pride in the knowledge that it took six of You-Know-Who's inner circle to bring them down, her brothers had taken down two of the attackers before succumbing to their wounds.

While her ability to sense magic was never as sophisticated as her brothers, Molly had the intuitive skill to literally _understand_ the nature of structures where magic was part of the building. Her ability gave her a connection to any building in her surroundings, allowing her to grasp the nature of magical constructions and the wards surrounding them.

Molly had originally wished to hone her ability and pursue a career as a _Faber Magicis_ , an architect of magical constructions, beforeshe became pregnant with Bill and had to marry Arthur Weasley. She had abandoned her dream to take care of her family, and had not once looked back, understanding that her family would always be her first priority.

However, the ability, _Ambient Sense_ as her family called it, had never left her. It was the same ability she employed to ensure sinister magic did not remain in The Burrow for long. It was the reason why her home produced a warm vibe in the magic surrounding the building though she did not yet understand how the diary that nearly killed her daughter had escaped her scrutiny.

The warm, soothing magic of The Burrow was one of the reasons why Ginny had improved over the years, despite the family's inability to hire a mind healer. She did notice the changes in Ginny: a more dominant nature, hints of ruthlessness and a heightened distrust of anyone not part of her family. She had observed the glares Ginny directed towards the French veela. Molly did not like the veela working closely with her Bill but Ginny seemed to have developed an irrational dislike of her brother's colleague. Still, Molly knew Ginny was in a better position than if anyone else had been possessed by You-Know-Who thanks to the ambient magics of their home.

The primary reason Molly wished to move her family and herself out of the townhouse was because, unlike The Burrow which held the freshness and warmth of spring, the Black Townhouse reeked of malice, control and suppression. The wards were old and full of wrath and paranoia and even the furniture and decorations had acquired a subtle, repulsive vibe. Aside from those feelings, Molly felt a sinister presence in the house, shadowing them all. Despite her best efforts at cleaning or removing every single piece of dark intent based objects, the presence had not disappeared. Her ability to sense such magic was why she was so supportive of Bill's efforts at warding The Burrow. The wards on her home might not be as powerful as those surrounding the townhouse but the ambience would improve by leaps.

Ron spoke up. "Get your trunk, mate. We'll be leaving once Bill is done with the spells."

Harry hesitated for a moment. "I won't be able to do that, mate."

"But… why?" Ron was perplexed at the refusal

"Dumbledore left me a list of tasks to complete, Ron." Harry said. "I can't ignore them and someone needs to take care of this place… I doubt Sirius would like it if it got into the hands of anyone else."

"Then I'll just join you here." Ron replied with enthusiasm. "You, me and Hermione can take care of those things Dumbledore gave you together. It'll be like it always is, mate."

Harry hesitated for a second before firming himself. "Sorry, Ron. This time, it'll just be me. It has to be this way."

"But…" Ron looked puzzled. "What's wrong with us being with-"

"Ron!" Molly intervened, giving Harry a glance from the corner of her eye. "I think Harry should-"

"But what about your education?" Ginny asked sharply. "Harry, you do realise you have another two years left in Hogwarts, right?" Her stare turned suspicious. "You will be attending your sixth year, will you not?"

 _If I'm still alive…_ Harry mentally winced. "Yes."

"Then what do you mean we can't join you?" Ron questioned in anger. "We always do things together. Besides, without me or Hermione around, you're just going to run yourself into the ground. You can't be trusted to take care of yourself, mate."

Harry looked away. "I'm sorry, Ron. But I need to finish the tasks by myself. I'm the only one who can. Dumbledore specifically told me it had to be me. Besides…" He paused for a moment, before hesitating once again. "Never mind. It's nothing."

"But…" Ron saw the stubborn stance of his best friend and realised he would not be able to convince Harry at the moment. "Okay, mate. You do what you need to do." He chuckled. "Besides, the floo's right there. I'm pretty sure you are going to drive yourself barmy in a week since Hermione and I won't be around."

Harry gave him a grin in return.

"Actually, Ron…" The voice came from the entrance to the foyer. The two boys turned around to find Hermione standing at the border between the foyer and the parlour. Her trunk was nowhere to be found. "I'm not coming. I've decided to stay here for the summer."

"Huh?" Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"It's like Harry said." Hermione replied. " Dumbledore has left him with a list to complete and I will help him, no matter his opinion on the matter." She sent a glare as Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"You don't even know what the tasks are." Ron countered intelligently.

Hermione flushed for a moment. "That's not true. I will be needed for the… uhm… the research work. Merlin knows neither of you ever pick up a book in your life. Besides, without me to trying to explain things to him, Harry will get himself killed."

Ron looked slightly green at the prospective of having to stay back at home, while his friends- err, _Hermione_ will be staying with Harry, alone, at the Black House." Then I'm just going to stay here with you and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"And what will you do, Ron?" Hermione asked in a slightly condescending manner. "You don't even _know_ what this is all about." She put her hands at her hips and a smirk rose on her lips as she threw Ron's words back at him.

"Well, someone needs to keep this bloke," Ron indicated towards Harry, "from getting into trouble."

"Ron," Harry chuckled, "you get me into trouble. Did you forget the duel in first year or the fiasco with Lockhart in our second year when we entered the Chamber?"

"There is a long and documented history to prove that claim." Ginny muttered in good humour.

"And I have a _long_ history of getting them out of it." Hermione replied snobbishly. "Without me, they would've gotten themselves killed or worse, expelled."

"You still need to get your priorities straight, Hermione." Ron muttered.

"What is that supposed to-" Hermione began indignantly, but Molly cut her interrupted what might have been a long tirade

"Hermione and Harry can stay here. Ronald and Ginevra, you will be coming home with me."

"But Mum!" Ron whined.

"No arguments." Molly replied crossly. "You will return home with me now, as will Ginny." She ignored her daughter's scowl and glanced at Hermione. "Hermione… it's her decision to stay here. I will not make her choices for her."

"But Harry and Hermione-"

"The Floo will be open at all times, unless an emergency occurs. You can come visit and stay here as long as necessary. But you will come home with me and live there." Molly stated with an air of finality, a severe expression on her face.

The gryffindors were quite unnerved by the resemblance to Professor McGonagall.

After a few seconds of the staring contest between mother and son, Ron sighed and looked away in frustration. "Fine! But I will be coming here every day."

"As long as take your meals at The Burrow and sleep there, you can visit for as long and as many times you want." Molly agreed. "And that applies for you too, Harry and Hermione as well. You can stay here but you will be coming to The Burrow for your meals."

"You better agree to that, Harry." Bill chortled from behind, much to his chagrin.

Privately, Harry did not think he would be on time for any meal though he knew Dobby would ensure he ate something. Finding arguing the matter to be a complete waste of effort, he nodded.

Molly beamed and clapped her hands. "Excellent!"

"The portkey spell is prepared and ready to activate. This should transport the luggage home and prevent anyone from tracking us." Bill uttered. He waved his wand in a corkscrew motion and the trunks shone brightly and vanished in a flash of bright blue light edged by a pale yellow.

"Well, that worked nicely." Bill grinned. "Time for us to leave, Mum."

"Okay, dear." Molly replied and turned to the two teenagers staying at the townhouse. "Keep yourselves safe. Don't wander outside for long and don't forget to arrive for your meals. Fred and George don't miss them either. I will expect the same from you."

Expressing their farewells, the Weasleys left the Black townhouse through the green flames of the floo leaving two teenagers behind.

* * *

 **June 2 1996**

Irrespective of the general belief of the public, there was more to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry than the status of a magically powerful though normal school of magic for budding witches and wizards.

The Hogwarts Charter, the grant which formalized the relationship between the Wizengamot and Wizarding Britain and the same document which continued to dictate the terms between the ancient school and the British Ministry of Magic, states that the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry possesses sovereign power of the school and the land considered part of the school grounds with the Wizengamot given certain discretionary powers in times of emergency. In essence, the charter stated Hogwarts was an autonomous institution independent of any authority save the Head of Hogwarts and the Wizengamot along with the British Ministry could call on the school in times of war in the capacity of a refugee shelter.

Hogwarts autonomy was always a sore spot for the British Ministry of Magic with the executive head of the government, the Minister, being unable to pass any law that might infringe on said autonomy. The Wizengamot held an ironclad agreement that prevented them from interfering with the working of the school unless called upon by the Head of Hogwarts. The charter enforced harsh penalties on any infringement of the autonomy of Hogwarts and the associated treaties and agreements ensured that Hogwarts would always retain its autonomy irrespective of the governmental body that governed the British Isles.

The drawbacks of the autonomy maintained by Hogwarts were numerous, finances being the biggest hurdle to overcome. Understanding that Hogwarts would face a financial crunch without the support of the government, the Four Founders spent every single knut of their personal fortune towards several projects to ensure Hogwarts could generate the revenue necessary to run the large school. The Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake were turned into revenue sources by the planting and harvesting of materials such as parts of animals, plant and tree extracts, potion ingredients, wand quality wood and a host of other rare and valuable items. In 1043, the Founders made a pact with a centaur herd allowing them to live on the grounds of Hogwarts in return for allowing the school to harvest centaur corpses for material used in potions, clothing and scrolls. In 1152, the Hogwarts Greenhouse initiative was completed allowing the school to become the largest supplier of mandrakes and wormwood in Magical Europe. The high price placed on mandrake sap combined with the large quantity of wormwood made them significant assets to bolster the financial reserves of Hogwarts.

A century later, in 1289, the student intake had nearly quadrupled, putting a greater strain on the school to remain fully functioning even as the students had to be provided the full scale of amenities as demanded by the ICW Educational Standards, a set of rules established by the ICW Office of Education after France, Bulgaria and Japan followed the lead of the Founders and built their own schools of magic open to all. In order to continue to maintain the necessary standards, a move which required greater financial reserves, Headmaster Brian Gagwilde put forward the idea of a Board of Governors. According to Gagwilde, the Board would consist of a four-member panel of Most Ancient or Ancient Houses who would have a say in the day-to-day working of Hogwarts, management of school staff and any initiatives the school took part in. The four seats would be hereditary and each House would have to provide substantial support in galleons. The post of a Hogwarts governor, people who would have a say in the future of their children, was considered to be such a prestigious honour that political manoeuvres, duels - both official and unofficial – blackmail and assassinations had taken place before the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Longbottom, Black and Selwyn and the Noble and then Ancient House of Bones – now considered a Noble and Ancient House - acquired the hereditary seats on the now established Hogwarts Board of Governors.

In 1477, nearly two centuries after the Board of Governors was established, the governors decided to it was time to expand the Board by the creation of an additional four non-permanent – temporary - seats. Appointment to the temporary seats was regulated by a strict set of guidelines agreed upon by the permanent members and the Head of Hogwarts. The members appointed to the temporary seats held the positon of governor for a period of ten years, donate a percentage of the school budget and hold lesser rights than the governors holding hereditary seats.

The Board of Governors held five to seven meetings over the course of the year to discuss the management of Hogwarts, though the number was reduced to less than three by the end of 1950. After the end of the First Wizarding War of Britain, the Board now met twice, at the end of the final term of school and before the letters announcing the new school year were sent to the students both old and new. However, in cases of emergency, the Head of Hogwarts could convene an emergency meeting of the Board of Governors at their discretion.

The latter right was how the Great Hall hosted an emergency meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors though the driving force behind the meeting were agendas beyond their control.

The four long tables which designated the four Hogwarts houses were vanished in favour of a single long rectangular brown wood table in the middle of the hall. Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall - appointed to the post immediately following the funeral of Albus Dumbledore - was seated at the traditional seat occupied by the Head of Hogwarts; at the head of the table, facing the doors of the Great Hall. To her immediate left, sat Filius Flitwick followed by an empty chair signifying the now vacant post of Head of Gryffindor House. To McGonagall's right sat Pomona Sprout followed by Severus Snape. The chairs following Snape were occupied by Augusta Longbottom, Regent of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom and Tristan Greengrass, Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass who held the Selwyn seat on the board as the official proxy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Selwyn and a non-permanent seat as Lord Greengrass. Amelia Bones, Regent of the Noble and Ancient House of Bones who also occupied a permanent seat on the Board sat next to the vacant chair of Head of Gryffindor house and was followed by the vacant chair signifying the vacant seat of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the fourth and final permanent seat on the board. Immediately following the empty chair was Nathaniel Smith, Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Smith, and sitting directly opposite to him was Rothford Carrow, Lord of the Ancient House of Carrow. The latter two, along with Tristan Greengrass occupied three of the non-permanent seats on the Board. The chair at the end of the table was occupied by a bespectacled man who, unlike the rest of the traditionally dressed occupants, wore a black overcoat over a black shirt. He seemed to be the only member of the table who stared at the proceedings in amusement.

"Hogwarts should not be closed down, Lord Smith. It must not be closed down. WE are the premier educational institution of Magic in the British Isles. Do you have any idea of the damage that would to our children? Closing down the school means the education of our children is delayed, not to mention the muggleborns who will have to be admitted soon." Minerva proclaimed. "I agree with your reasoning that times of war necessitate sacrifice – even if that sacrifice is always harsher on civilians – but is that not an even greater reason to keep the school open and running as usual. The students require a sense of normalcy, to know that the world does not end just because a threat is on the horizon."

"Who will defend the students, Headmistress?" Nathaniel Smith countered. "Dumbledore has left us." The headmistress trembled in sorrow and anger. "He is no longer around to protect the children from _his_ wrath. The only thing that is currently delaying You-Know-Who from simply attacking the school is probably the fact they must still be celebrating."

 _The death of Albus Dumbledore at the hands of You-Know-Who himself_ went unsaid even though everyone at the table knew the answer.

Minerva's lips thinned. "Hogwarts was built specifically to protect the children, Lord Smith. The Founders of Hogwarts have built the wards to withstand a full scale siege. You cannot sit there and tell me you have so little faith in the defences of our ancient school."

"It is not about faith." Smith refuted. "This is about the fact that You-Know-Who has always coveted Hogwarts. Everyone at this table, every member of my house, hell, all our houses know the only reason he did not attack the school was because of Albus Dumbledore, not because of wards that could be dismantled or destroyed with enough time and knowledge, two resources he possesses in ample quantities at the moment. What will you do if he attacks the school when it is in session? The children will be slaughtered."

"You can always support the Dark Lord's cause." Carrow pointed out in a thin reedy voice and stared at Smith in silent malice, causing the lord to look away. "He has always championed for greater rights for witches and wizards of the _right_ sort. All of you seem to forget that the Dark Lord only wished to remove that muggle lover from the position of power he held in the school. He has no intentions of harming our children. If necessary, he is more than willing to provide the necessary resources to-"

"Conquer the greatest magical stronghold in Wizarding Britain." Amelia interrupted Carrow's 'sales pitch'. Everyone at the table could feel the rage in her eerily calm voice. "That is before he murders every single witch or wizard he considers _impure_ according to his personal, twisted view of the world." She cut off Carrow as he opened his mouth. "It is beneath your station and heritage to believe in falsehoods, Lord Carrow. I _suggest_ you keep your recruitment campaign to the mindless dregs roaming Knockturn alley."

"I believe Amelia has provided an excellent suggestion, Lord Carrow." Minerva spoke over Carrow's protests. "Never utter such filthy propaganda within these halls again."

Upon seeing the rest of the governors throw him filthy looks, Carrow just huffed and looked away.

"The walls of Hogwarts have never been breached by an invading army and I do not see that record being broken by a foolish dark lord with more brawn than wit." Augusta Longbottom spoke softly yet her words commanded the attention of everyone seated at the table. "Lord Smith has proposed excellent points that we must consider. Albus Dumbledore is dead. No action we take or words we speak will change the situation. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is responsible for the death of the greatest mage of our era and he is, without doubt, at the moment, planning to achieve what he believes would be an easy victory."

Augusta glanced at every single member at the table but faltered for a second as her gaze fell on bespectacled man who smiled at her. "However, I do believe several members at this table," She gave pointed looks towards Smith and Carrow, "seem to have neglected their history. At the height of the last war, when witches and wizards were dying or disappearing every single day, Hogwarts did not stop functioning. When members of the old blood, inheritors of our great and noble heritage, were murdered, Hogwarts did not pause. When the Ministry was one step shy of falling into the hands of the enemy, Hogwarts did not falter. E when the despairing realisation of You-Know-Who's impending victory was upon us, Hogwarts stood strong."

"Hogwarts is not a mere school. It is a symbol of hope for the witches and wizards of Wizarding Britain. The legacy of the Four Founders must stand, even if Merlin himself sides against us." Ignoring the varied expressions of her fellow governors and the Hogwarts staff, Augusta asked, "Regent Bones, as Director of the DMLE, can you inform us of the official steps taken by your department to protect the students of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the machinations of the terrorists who go by the appellation 'Death Eaters'?"

"The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has authorised the DMLE to go to full war footing." Amelia noted the surprise of several members. She understood why. Fudge should have taken another three weeks to authorise such an action due to his nature of sticking his head under the sand especially when his post was all but taken from him and his supporters had deserted the man. What her fellow governors did not know was that Amelia had blackmail Fudge with threats to completely destroy his reputation by subtly alluding to his actions to undermine the DMLE in order to ensure You-Know-Who did not face resistance when he returned. She knew it was a pack of lies but Fudge understood such a statement from the Director of the DMLE in the current political atmosphere would see him behind the bars of Azkaban. Amelia could honestly say she had never seen the man move as fast as he did when he drafted the necessary forms, signed them using his personal wand and stamped them with the official seal of the Office of the Minister of Magic.

Amelia had hated herself for employing such a scheme to gain the necessary authorisations to begin a war against the death eaters. She was the DMLE Director, an upholder of the law. She would have tried to continue to pressure the man for another week before he finally gave in when Dumbledore had died. Any patience or tolerance she possessed evaporated when Voldemort was revealed to be the cause of the headmaster's death. She hated Albus Dumbledore, hated him since the day she learned he was responsible for the death of her brother and sister-in-law and leaving Susan an orphan. Dumbledore was the one wizard in all of Britain she could no longer see eye-to-eye and ensured the old man understood her stance clearly. However, she did not lose the fact that Albus Dumbledore was the primary reason why Voldemort's offensives slowed down considerably during the previous war. It was why she had chosen to blackmail Fudge, knowing Voldemort would be bolder than ever and would try to attack the Ministry and Hogwarts at first available opportunity.

"As for the measures taken to protect Hogwarts," Amelia explained, "a squad of aurors containing seven members will be posted on the grounds of Hogwarts but will stay out of the castle unless an emergency demands their presence. An additional auror squad of similar number will be patrolling the village of Hogsmeade. The members of the two squads will be rotated with a standing force to ensure security at all times. In case of an attack, the entirety of the standing force may be called in at a moment. Before you ask any questions, know that it is all the information I can reveal. Any extra security measures taken or protocols put in place are considered confidential."

"Furthermore, members of the Hogwarts staff will be _encouraged_ by Auror Instructor Moody," Amelia smirked at the reactions received, "to introduce measures to protect the students in case intruders breach the castle." Turning to a slightly pale Minerva, her lips twitched in amusement. "Sorry, Headmistress, but do understand it is for the safety of the children."

Snape wished to wring the DMLE Director's neck for placing them in the hands of a paranoid madman with full knowledge that said man would torture the entire staff with his idea of security. Flitwick seemed to take it as a challenge while Sprout hoped Moody may have softened with age.

Tristan Greengrass hid his amusement smile behind folded hands even as Carrow assumed a shade of puce but did not object, knowing he would gain no grounds on this matter. The bespectacled man at the end of the table stared at them all in glowing amusement.

"Headmistress," Augusta asked, "the posts of Professor of Transfiguration, the Head of Gryffindor house and, more importantly, the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts have to be filled soon. I met with Lady Marchbanks of the WEA and she informed me that the current OWL results would arrive soon due to the smaller size of the previous year batch. I was assured that the results would arrive by the fifteenth of July. I would prefer to have the positions filled before the children receive the results, not to mention the first to fourth year and sixth year papers for the two subjects need to be graded. Since Dumbledore knew he would die, I assume he had already lined up applications for the positions. Do you have any interviews lined up?"

Minerva sighed. "As far the post of Professor for DADA is concerned, I have yet to receive any applications, as usual. Thanks to current circumstances and the rumours already in circulation regarding the post, I doubt I shall receive _any_ applications." She seemed to visibly deflate. "I was planning to wait for another three weeks before appointing Severus to the position in a temporary capacity."

Snape seemed apathetic to the entire discussion even as the governors glanced at him in varied states of apprehension, anger and glee.

"Severus Snape." Amelia frowned. "I must admit I am not in favour of your teaching methods. My niece, Susan Bones, has little positive thoughts to share on your potions class though, in your defence, she does not possess an affinity for the subject." Turning to face the professor, she said, "I would like to hear your opinion on the matter."

Severus spoke like a man measuring his every word. "Miss Bones is an… adequate brewer. While she does lack an affinity for the subject – the matter attested by yourself – she should have no problems passing her OWLs with an Exceeds Expectations or higher. My answer to your accusations of being an underqualified professor is simple, Regent Bones. I prefer to teach using methods know to develop critical thinking and an extreme appreciation for safety measures, two traits that all potions masters must possess. I understand my methods may seem too harsh for _children_ but I will not change them. The Clock Tower did not grant me a mastery in potions at the age of twenty because of my winning personality."

Amelia's frown deepened. "Are you not an ex-death eater who escaped imprisonment at Azkaban because Albus Dumbledore provided his testimony in your favour?"

"I assure you, Regent Bones," Snape countered, "staying at Hogwarts and teaching potions to… _students_ is not an improvement. If you do not believe my methods are beneficial to children, you may exercise your right as a Hogwarts governor and dismiss me from my post. I assure you I will be sending you flowers for the favour you will bestow." He ended in a deadpan.

Amelia bristled but kept her silence. She would have fired the man years ago if Albus Dumbledore did not request her silence with the assurance that Snape could be trusted to do the right thing and provide her with a magical oath to prove himself. Although since Dumbledore was no longer around to keep him in line, she wondered if the potions professor would return to his master. Either way, she would be instructing her aurors to keep a closer eye on the man. "Albus Dumbledore once remarked that your skill in combat is on par with a hit-wizard. Though he did mention you did not possess a mastery in combat magic or defensive magic."

Snape sneered in annoyance. "Regent Bones, I possess a mastery in the Dark Arts which I received in 1984 from the Clock Tower. If you doubt me, you can check the records. It would interest you to note that my sponsor for the mastery was Ivan Volkov, a famous professor at the Clock Tower and not Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster hired with him the full knowledge of my past and my skills. If you wish to know why Dumbledore would hire me, a question that seems to plague you incessantly, you should have asked the man when he was still alive."

"Professor Dumbledore believed that practitioners of the Dark Arts are _uniquely positioned_ to defend against them. He believed this trait allowed them to be excellent professors for the subject of DADA." Minerva intervened between a sneering Snape and a seething Amelia. "It is the reason Severus is one of the possible candidates for DADA at the moment. He has prior experience teaching the subject when he filled in for Professor Lupin during his absences."

" _The werewolf_." Carrow sneered. "What was the old fool thinking? It was a mistake to let that creature teach the students. I'm surprised it managed to stay at the school for as long as it did."

"Said werewolf was also the most popular Defense Instructor in the last five years according to both students and staff." Augusta countered in a firm voice. "Professor Lupin was a complete professional and took every precautionary measure to ensure he was not a danger to his students during his time at the school. When the parents of the students learned of his condition, he resigned without protest. In contrast, Dolores Umbridge – who has yet to be found after her attempt at trying to administer the Cruciatus to fifth year students – ran this school like a prison and tortured students using a Blood Quill. If I remember correctly, you sponsored her application, Lord Carrow. Such a shame she turned out to be a tyrant who brought misery to children."

Carrow was forced to shut up.

The bespectacled man chuckled at the comments passing across the table. Smith glared at the man. Again. The man ignored him. Again.

Amelia cleared her throat. When the members turned towards her, she said, "I have a suggestion for the position of DADA professor." She glanced towards Carrow and Snape. "Rufus Scrimgeour."

Tristan Greengrass, silent since the meeting first began, spoke up. "Your suggestion for a DADA professor is Rufus Scrimgeous. Regent Bones, you wish to remove the _Head Auror_ from his extremely important position and place him in a school to teach children?" He smiled at Amelia as his mind analysed every angle of the decision taken by her.

Carrow barked. "Are you barking mad, Bones!? The man is a complete maniac-"

"Towards death eaters only, Lord Carrow." Amelia interrupted. Her tone was pure ice. "Which is understandable considering they were responsible for the rape and murder of his wife and daughter. Or do you believe he must preach forgiveness for his killers?"

Carrow sneered. "The man was the warden of Azkaban for five years, Bones! He ignored every single rule in the prison and ran it like his personal fiefdom. Do you realise the damage he has wrought on the prisoners?"

"How would you know of the damage Rufus has allegedly wrought, Lord Carrow?" Amelia asked shrewdly. "Have you, perchance had the opportunity to meet a high security inmate recently?"

Carrow growled. "Do keep yourself insinuations to yourself, _Regent Bones_. Baseless accusations are dangerous things. Why, I do believe many deaths during the last war were the results of such accusations. Tore _families_ apart." He smiled in malicious humour.

Amelia tightened her fists even as the bespectacled man placed both his palms on the table. Smith glared at the individual even as Augusta sent a glance towards the man.

Flitwick intervened before the verbal fight escalated into a magical duel. "Are you sure Head Auror Scrimgeour will be open to the suggestion, Regent Bones?"

Amelia took a deep breath and turned to Flitwick though her fists were yet to relax. "Professor Flitwick, I believe Rufus will be more than amenable. In fact, I first ran the proposal past him before I gave my recommendation. Rufus, if you choose to confirm his appointment, is more than willing to take up the position of DADA professor. Plus, this has the added benefit of Hogwarts having a trained auror on site at all times. I do believe this will go a long way in appearing parents regarding the safety of the school."

"Indeed. I do believe with all the measures taken by the Director, parents would be more than willing to send their parents to the school, knowing the Head Auror himself is protecting their children personally. Speaking as a parent, I would have no problems with the Heiress of my house attending her sixth year under his formidable protection." Tristan smiled at Amelia as his voice took on a thin veneer of civility. "Although I do find something strange about the matter. With Rufus at Hogwarts and Fudge ready to be unseated during the upcoming session of the Wizengamot this month, I do believe your chances of being elected as the Minister of Magic would rise dramatically. Nothing more than a coincidence, right, Regent Bones?"

Amelia's smile was forced. "It was not my consideration when I proposed the change to Rufus, I assure you, Lord Greengrass."

Tristan's smile and amusement widened. "Of course, Regent Bones. I must have been mistaken." His tone said otherwise.

Augusta and Smith watched the exchange in exasperation. Tristan and Amelia in the same room was a volatile cocktail that required only the slightest of touches to explode like an erumpent horn. Their snipes at each other usually occupied the better part of fifteen minutes before their combined attention returned to the matter on hand.

Minerva let the silence linger for a moment. "Regent Bones, can I expect Head Auror Scrimgeour to take up the position of DADA professor soon?"

Amelia glanced back at her. "Yes. I shall personally notify Rufus that he was appointed to the position and finalise his transfer. You may forward all the relevant documents pertaining to the post to Rufus."

Minerva nodded. "Thank you, Regent Bones. The next item on the agenda is the vacancy of the Professor of Transfiguration."

"I recommend Corban Yaxley to the position. The man is one of the foremost Transfiguration specialists in Britain. He possesses a mastery in the subject and he is an active figure on the duelling circuit." Smith interrupted the headmistress. "He will make a fine addition to the staff."

"I agree with your assessment, Lord Smith." Flitwick said with easy grace. "I have personally witnessed the man's prowess in the subject during the many duels he has participated in. I believe he would be an excellent teacher. Though…" He trailed off

Smith raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Professor Flitwick. Do you have any _personal_ comments to share?"

"No, Lord Smith." Flitwick negated knowing he would gain no ground. While he knew Yaxley was a sympathiser of the death eater movement or even a death eater himself, he did not have any proof to corroborate his claims. He deflated though perked up in interest at Minerva's statement.

"I do believe your recommendation would be an excellent professor, Lord Smith. But I have already received an application for the position. She is a master in the field of animation and has worked in the field for decades."

"I am unsure of bringing in anyone else for the position, headmistress. Yaxley is a proven talent and a master duellist. You would not only have an excellent teacher who is versed in all fields of transfiguration but also a man who can protect the children in times of danger." Smith said calmly.

"I agree, Lord Smith." Minerva replied. "But the applicant possesses greater experience in the field of both transfiguration and combat. She has been recommended at the highest level."

"Minerva, did I hear that correctly?" Smith returned in irritation. Augusta sighed at the impending explosion. "Are you seriously considering the applicant over the recommendation of a respected noble of the British pureblood community?"

"I would like to see you say the word 'No' to _Nicholas_ Flamel, Lord Smith." Minerva retorted, angered at the man for using _blood status_ to push his recommendation forward. Sadistic glee filled her as the man blanched in horror.

Augusta's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Tristan's brows furrowed in thought as he stared at Minerva McGonagall for any clues. Amelia felt quite surprised though she noticed the bespectacled man's hand twitch at the name.

" _Nicholas Flamel_?" Smith gasped in surprise and horror. " _The_ Nicholas Flamel?" He frantically searched Minerva's face for any hint of a bluff. "Why would _Nicholas Flamel_ choose to take part in the affair of a school?"

"Bah!" Carrow sneered. "You are putting a French potion-maker at a higher pedestal than a _Lord_ of a Noble House? Preposterous."

Whether Carrow was oblivious to the blank stares he was receiving from everyone or intentionally ignoring them was difficult to say.

Amelia scowled at the man and turned towards Minerva. "Who did Nicholas Flamel recommend for the position?"

Minerva pursed her lips. "Lady Serena Thüringen."

" _Thüringen_?"Augusta breathed in sharply. "That means she is-"

"Daughter of Samuel Thüringen, High Master of the Battle-Transfiguration." Minerva answered. "She is a master from the Battle-Transfiguration Guild herself and is the world's foremost authority in the field of animation."

"Why would a _Guild Master_ even _think_ of becoming a Hogwarts professor in the first place?" Amelia asked the question on the mind of everyone save one.

"Yes, very interesting." The bespectacled individual added, a smile of curiosity on his lips.

Minerva eyed the man as she answered. "The question has been plaguing me too, Regent Bones. Master Thüringen would have been a better choice for the new Headmistress, rather than the Transfiguration Professorship. She is a master from one of the fabled guilds while I-"

"Have spent three decades teaching at Hogwarts and hence are suited to the position better than any outsider." Augusta replied firmly.

Minerva nodded in gratitude at the display of trust in her and her abilities. "Master Thüringen shall be the Transfiguration professor. I trust there are no objections?" Carrow grumbled but the rest stayed quiet. Nodding to herself, she continued, "The sister of our Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, went missing over a week ago. For reasons unknown, Charity quit her job yesterday and left the school but she did recommend a replacement. I contacted the recommended person and I am happy to say they have accepted the position of Muggle Studies professor. Charity's replacement is Miss Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw of 1994. Miss Clearwater achieved seven NEWTs with five Outstandings and two Exceeds Expectations and was the Head Girl during the school year of 1993-1994."

"I think Penelope would be an excellent addition to the staff, Minerva." Flitwick added earnestly, remembering the bright and eager girl who was one of the best students he ever had the pleasure of teaching.

Watching the members of the Board nod in silent acquiescence to her choice, Minerva cleared her throat. "There is one matter I would like to bring to your attention." Seeing the bespectacled man give her a discreet 'thumbs up', she smiled. "If questioned on this particular matter, the students of all houses would agree without hesitation. Professor Binns and his History of Magic class has always been… less than spectacular. In fact, the Wizarding Examinations Authority has brought the matter to our notice several times as the number of students who pursue a NEWT in History of Magic from Hogwarts has dwindled down to one student every decade. I have even consulted the staff on the matter and they agree without reservation. Hence, I have-"

"Wait!" Smith interrupted, his face quite place.

Minerva stared at the man in confusion. "Yes, Lord Smith?"

"You are not going to… to…" Smith trailed off. Amelia frowned in confusion at the man's change in demeanour. Augusta sighed at the upcoming explosion.

Tristan continued to observe the proceedings in silence as Carrow stared at Smith like he had grown a second head.

Minerva's lips thinned in displeasure. "If _exorcising_ Professor Binns is what you are referring to, then I'm afraid you are correct."

"But Minerva," Smith exploded, "You cannot do that. Binns is a part of the _history and tradition_ of Hogwarts. There cannot be a Hogwarts without Binns. We cannot afford to-"

" _Nathaniel!_ " Augusta barked. "What exactly are you blubbering about?"

Nathaniel stared at his fellow governors and snorted in dark humour. "I'm talking about the _reason_ why Cuthbert Binns has stayed at Hogwarts for centuries, _two hundred and sixty-three years_ to be exact." His face twisted into a condescending sneer. "Does _Govenor_ Longbottom declare ignorance on the matter"

" _Minerva_ , what is this man talking about?" Augusta narrowed her eyes.

"He must be talking about the Hogwarts Statute of 1374 passed by the ICW at the behest of the Clock Tower, the same statute which changed the status of Hogwarts from an _illegal magical construction_ frowned upon by the very same ICW and the Clock Tower, into a _proper ICW-approved school_ in return for certain changes to be made to the school. One of those changes was the employment of Adalbert Binns for the position of the History of Magic professor and that none but his descendants or the next of kin, all of whom must possess the last name of Binns. In short, only the descendants of the House of Binns may occupy the post of the Professor of the History of Magic." The bespectacled black-haired man pointed out.

Augusta looked like her eyes were about to pop out.

Amelia observed the man in detail for the first time since the meeting began. She had assumed the man was a new teacher Minerva wished to introduce at the end of the meeting and had kept her silence though she could never quite grasp anything about him except that he wore spectacles and was black haired. Now, it seemed whatever enchantment he used was no longer in effect for she found a black haired individual with a slight peppering of grey around the edges. The man possessed a lean build underneath a black shirt worn under a black overcoat. The most interesting part of the man were his deep blue eyes behind thin rimmed glasses. They seemed like the eyes of an old soul. Amelia blinked at the thought. The man was old. Judging by his appearance and the rate at which wizards and witches usually showed signs of old age – they displayed signs around their sixties – Amelia estimated the man was in his early sixties though he looked closer to forty. So, why did her mind insist he was older than he seemed?

Carrow glared at the interloper. He would have questioned the man at the start of the meeting but something had compelled him to keep quiet for the time being.

Tristan blinked in thought for he could finally perceive the addition to the meeting properly since the meeting began. There was something familiar about the man though he could not put his finger on the memory.

The Hogwarts staff except Minerva stared the bespectacled man in surprise as their minds told them he was there since the start. The only reason they did not draw their wands was because Minerva looked unsurprised but pained. Snape wondered if it was because of the stranger himself or upcoming events.

Of the entire table, Smith openly glared at the man.

"Not?" The strange man who had bewitched the table was far too amused. "I must be mistaken."

"How do an outcast like you," Smith sneered, "possess such information?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "It is my job, Nathaniel. I am a historian; no matter what popular opinion may be."

"You are an outcast, a treacherous leper. The Clock Tower-" Smith frothed but was cut interrupted by the bespectacled man.

"I am a Master from the Guilds, Nathaniel." The man's voice was firm and unyielding. An aura of power shone through his voice. "Show me a little respect."

"As if a swine like you-" Smith was interrupted again.

" **Enough**!" Minerva shouted loudly. Once the table had returned to a relatively calm state, she waved her right hand in the direction of the bespectacled man. "Governors, Professors, please meet the newest addition to our teaching staff. He shall be joining the school as our new History of Magic professor. Please welcome Matthias Edvards Fernard."

Tristan's eyes widened in shock though he quickly masked his expression behind his occlumency. Augusta appeared to be in pain.

"I'd prefer _Majishanrodo_ Fernard, but that works too, I suppose." The man, Matthias returned with an easy shrug.

"A _Majishanrodo_!? You are a Master from the Artificers Guild?" Amelia asked, shocked at finding a Master seated among them inconspicously. It also made her wonder why Nathaniel Smith was so scathing towards the man. A quick glance revealed Smith continued to ignore or glare at the man.

"What can I say?" Matthias smiled in a disarming manner. "I've always been an overachiever."

"Mister Fernard," Amelia chose her words carefully, "Could you please explain what you meant by the Hogwarts Statute and the relation to the Binns family?"

"Matthias." Matthias replied. "You may call me Matthias. It will be easier and I prefer my first name to Fernard. Makes it sound like I'm too old. Besides, people calling me Mister Fernard _always_ reminds me of my father. As for your query on the Binns family, the _Clock Tower_ , despite what Lord Smith would prefer to believe, considered the Four Founders as _heretics_ when Hogwarts was founded back in the tenth century. Trust me, the Clock Tower, the international institution responsible for screening applicants to the International Guilds and responsible for awarding masteries for any and all known subjects, are extremely huge hypocritical assholes."

Everyone at the table stared at Matthias in varying states of shock, rage, surprise and curiosity even as they wondered how a Master from a Guild could insult the very institution responsible for teaching their applicants.

Matthias smirked. "When Salvazahar Gaunt, Rowena Le Fay, Goderick Le Fay, and Helga Pendragon," All of them jumped at the last name of the Founder. Matthias ignored them, "succeeded in performing the apparently impossible task of _bending_ seven ley-lines to create a _single_ confluence and _conjured_ the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry using the energy of said confluence – all of you are sitting on top of the confluence, in case you don't realise it - it was an act of heresy in the eyes of the Clock Tower. For the next three centuries, until 1300 AD, the Clock Tower declared Hogwarts an _illegal edifice_ crafted out of _forbidden magecrafts_ and called it a threat to the world."

"An artificial confluence of seven ley-lines…" Minerva muttered in shock. "And a conjuration of immense complexity as Hogwarts… No wonder the Clock Tower declared it illegal. If the school's connection to the confluence had destabilised, Scotland would be nothing more than a – a - a large crater." The severity of the situation seemed to hit her. "The Founders were insane!"

"Insane? Yes. Genius? Most definitely. You will find most forbidden magecrafts – or magic as you prefer to call it – to be topics that the Clock Tower is simply too scared, too stupid or too thick headed to understand." Matthias agreed, deliberately ignoring the looks of shock on the faces of the table's occupants. "Back to history. Four centuries of constant stability; not to mention the amount of positive revenue the _Hogwarts project_ was earning garnered the interest of the Clock Tower. The Magi at the Clock Tower – Oh, for Merlin's sake. Look, Magus is the ICW term for a magical. Magi is the plural form of Magus. All other words like witches, wizards, mages, sorcerers, onmyouji, necromancers and the other thousand appellations simply refer to the type of magical and the magic they use. Each country has a term it prefers to use. Britain uses witches and wizards. India uses Sages, Warlocks and demigods. Native Americans use Shamans. It is not a complex metallurgic formula. Stop looking so confused. What do they teach in schools these days…" He shook his head. "Back to the lesson. The Magi at the Clock Tower cannot help but notice a flourishing business when they see it." Nathaniel coughed rather loudly at this point only for Matthias to ignore the man. "So, in the Warlock Convention of 1374, they decided to _forget_ all past differences literally by passing the Hogwarts Statute and embraced Hogwarts as a legal academic institution because _it was the right thing to do_." Everyone felt the sarcasm ooze from the words

Tristan snorted, a reaction that was shared by, much to the surprise of her colleagues, Pomona.

"However, taking in Hogwarts as an ICW-approved institution literally meant _washing away_ any bad memories, at least in the eyes of the Clock Tower. I'm not an expert but I've heard that hot chocolate is surprisingly effective in such matters, though I do prefer a strong cup of coffee with a dash of honey myself." Everyone blinked at the statement. Matthias grinned sheepishly. "The ICW under the _guidance_ of the Clock Tower decided that a premier institution like Hogwarts needed _rich history_ and thus, after accumulating the several points voted upon during the convention, a new _history_ was framed for the school. That was how, the first copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ by Adalbert Binns, was published with all the _bad memories literally washed away_. Isn't that amazing?" Matthias oozed anger and sarcasm in equal measure.

"The _history of Hogwarts_ was a result of a _vote_?" Amelia's eyes were wide with disbelief.

Matthias just shrugged. "Happens all the time in the muggle world, when one tribe, country or religion conquers another. History is written by the victors is a common phrase used by the muggles – I prefer the term no-maj myself – and I do say they were right on several accounts and wrong on others. History is written by all sides of the equation. It's just the records that outlast the rest which are accepted as the reality of the past. The ICW and the Clock Tower used a common practice of writing history to their whims." The table was staring at the man in horror. "If you are wondering how much of your history books or lesson are wrong, I'd bet my money on all but the first five lines of **Hogwarts: A History**."

"Mister Matthias, if you are telling the truth, then the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin-" Snape was interrupted by Matthias.

"First of all, their names are Goderick Le Fay and Salvazsahar Gaunt. Not Gryffindor and Slytherin. Those are the names they gave to the Hogwarts houses they founded. To answer your question, no. Goderick and Salvazsahar did not have a feud, especially not since Goderick was crippled during the confluence event and the conjuration of Hogwarts. He could barely swing his fabled sword though he was the Artificer of the Founders. If you need examples of his skill, look no further than the Sorting Hat and the ceiling above your heads."

Everyone was literally hanging to Matthias's every word. Carrow was trying and failing at feigning disinterest.

"But we digress." Matthias remarked with a winning smile. "Because Adalbert Binns was the most vocal contributor to the convention, the Clock Tower fired the symbolic, or metaphorical, spell while placing the wand over Binns' shoulder. Adalbert had to sign a _Geas scroll_ , which stated that he and his descendants would be responsible for teaching the _history of Hogwarts_ to every student passing the halls of the castle henceforth. The Binns family was elevated to a Noble status and gained a few nifty perks in return."

"Adalbert Binns sold away his future generations for that?" Flitwick asked in astonishment.

"For a Magus, increase in family stature is second to none." Matthias replied. "Or so I'm told."

Nobody refuted his statement. Matthias continued. "Adalbert was succeeded by his son Milton who was succeeded by Edward who was late succeeded by Henry and later, Alexander and finally Cuthbert who, because of special circumstances, died before he could leave a next of kin. Though I do say his ghost was doing a mighty fine job at honouring his family's legacy."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at the last statement.

"The Geas…" Minerva muttered in horror.

"Am I missing something?" Tristan asked in open befuddlement.

"The Geas scroll is different from all other contracts, Lord Greengrass." Augusta answered. "Even if you die physically, it will bind your soul until the contract is fulfilled."

"An unbreakable vow that continues beyond death. Wonderful." Tristan grimaced.

"That's what binds poor Cuthbert?" Flitwick said, a tinge of sadness in his tone.

"Unfortunately," Amelia answered. "Geas scrolls are unbreakable. I've only seen them used once in my life."

"From what I'm told, a ghost is a shade of a departed individual, holding to traces of what was extremely significant to him before his end." Minerva spoke, her tone bitter with all the revelations. "Cuthbert Binns never really liked teaching history in the first place, from what Sir Nicholas Porpington's ghost once shared with us."

"I'm sure that explains why there has been a significant decrease in the History of Magic NEWTS over the decades." Pomona stated.

"Yes. They are extremely interesting topics, but what I'm concerned with is what happens now!" Smith barked. "You broke the Clock Tower's regulations, Minerva."

Minerva scowled at his tone. "Neither the Clock Tower nor the _knowledgeable_ ," She said like the word like he had none, "governor intimated the rules to either me or Dumbledore. I am, first and foremost, a teacher who cares about the education of her students. I had a competent History of Magic professor at hand, and I did what I thought best."

"You can't hire a new professor!" Smith was outraged. "Binns is still present."

"Not anymore." Minerva replied, frost coating her voice.

The moment the realisation sunk in, everyone, save Matthias, stared at Minerva in shock and horror.

"How did you exorcise Binns, Minerva?" Amelia asked quickly. The answer might just give her a clue to eliminating quite a number of dangerous ghouls attached to various plots of land. "Getting past the magic of a Geas is considered to be impossible. The penalties for interfering with one are worse than the Unbreakable vow."

"I didn't exorcise Binns." Minerva replied in a monotone, shaking her head towards the bespectacled man. "He did."

Amelia, and several others, stared at Matthias in disbelief. The fact that the man was still alive and healthy after _breaking a Geas_ was nothing short of miraculous. Augusta looked quite uncomfortable with the situation.

"How did you do it?" Tristan asked, a note of awe in his tone.

"Magic." Matthias replied impishly, causing a wave of groans around the table.

* * *

 **Malfoy Manor.**

" _ **Your ambitions are far too mundane, Riddle."**_

" _ **I am not a**_ **better man** _ **, Rookwood. You cannot compare me to a mere man. Take a long, hard look for I have returned to life, a feat unattained by anyone before me and I have transcended the limits of the flesh." A smile of gloating on pale lips. "There are no men like me for I have no equal."**_

" _ **There are always men like you, Riddle. Fools who believe that the world owes them all it can offer, and for the inanest of reasons: privileged birth, famous ancestors, high scores, achievements or, in your case, suffering at the hands of those with means and far too little thought." A sneer on scarred lips. "Twenty years, Riddle, and you have yet to learn the true meaning of power. What happened to the precocious overachiever who once fought to save his own existence? Where is the intelligence, cunning and guile which once formed the cornerstones of your might? You are letting arrogance cloud your judgement and sooner or later, you will suffer the consequences."**_

Voldemort mused on the words his former teacher had imparted during their last and, preferably, final meeting. Despite the distance of years straining their relationship, he had never known his teacher to be so… _direct_ in their dealings. Voldemort knew there were instances where his teacher dealt with him in an extremely difficult manner to teach a lesson he believed was needed, but he had never experienced such a reaction before. His teacher - a man Voldemort knew should have been dead twenty times over during the past three decades – had all but told Voldemort he would not achieve his ambitions.

Voldemort scoffed at the completely inaccurate assessment of his teacher. He was not the arrogant individual his teacher, followers and Dumbledore made him out to be. He was not deluded, insane or self-deceptive and, above all, he was not the extreme blood supremacist his followers thought him to be. One could not build a formidable army of magi, giants, werewolves and vampires using the utterly blind arrogance of a fool, could not convince the ruling families of Britain to follow with delusions of grandeur and one certainly could not lead a group of wilful, charismatic and powerful individuals using insane ramblings and drivel as spouted by drunkards and incompetents.

When he returned to the shores of Britain after his teacher had deemed his education complete, Voldemort had formulated a plan by which he would gain control of the island nation. He would pander to the blood based bigotry prevalent throughout the wizarding public, the Ministry and the ruling families, creating an army of agents to sabotage and cripple the government before ruthlessly crushing the remnants of resistance that would choose to fight against the empire he would create with him ruling at the helm. It would be an uphill battle to convince the older families but he was confident in his silver tongue and ability to charm them to his side.

But Voldemort had never expected to receive an offer from the other side of his campaign to earn the support of the Purebloods. Due to the presence of Dumbledore and other 'light' inclined families, many traditional houses decided to hide their inclination towards extreme actions in the shadows even as they plotted, schemed and attempted to defang their opponents in the political, social, diplomatic and economic arenas. Voldemort had fully expected to leverage their wishes for greater power to earn a proper foothold on the political landscape. He created a small but loyal cabal of followers who would not hesitate to follow his commands, announced his political stance in the Daily Prophet, organised public speeches and meetings with the lords and ladies of reputed families to obtain their support.

It was then Voldemort had received an unexpected offer. Three lords of reputed noble families had approached _him_ with a truly unique opportunity: they would act as his sponsors in the political and social arenas, provide him with the necessary finances to create an _army_ loyal to the cause and create a legend around him using an alternative persona which they would later use to gain greater leverage on Wizarding Britain. In return, Voldemort would lead them to victory, shape the magical communities of Britain in their image and swear allegiance to them.

Voldemort had balked at the offer, in the beginning. However, as he considered the offer, he knew it was an opportunity- _No_ , it was _the_ opportunity he was waiting for. Not only would he earn the favour of three of the oldest ruling houses, he would also gain an ascent in the political arena that, on his own merit, would have taken a decade to achieve. The persona they would create ensured that he would become the most feared wizard in Britain, a feat even Dumbledore failed to achieve, and bestow a reputation he could use to corral followers to his cause and instil fear in all but the hardiest of opponents.

There was one other factor Voldemort knew he could use to skew the deal in his favour.

After his arrival in Britain, Voldemort had marched straight to Gringotts and demanded an inheritance test to both determine his true ancestry and, if available, lay claim to any family heirlooms or properties that might be available. He held no hope for vaults full of precious gems and coins for it might have been centuries since the vaults lay dormant and goblin fees for vault retention might well outstrip their monetary contents. The only reason he did not take such a test before he left the shores of Britain was because of the price, a ludicrous amount that was equivalent to the three-year salary of an average ministry worker.

The goblins had demanded a slightly greater price than was usual for such tests due to his impatience - a slight Voldemort promised himself to exact retribution for - and provided him with a comprehensive tapestry denoting his ancestry _and_ closest blood relatives, the latter being the surprising revelation and the former providing results that were both unsurprising and disappointing.

His closest blood relatives - a feature available only if said relatives - was a pureblood family who went by the name Lovegood - distant cousins eight times removed – and the House of Lestrange – again, distant cousins four times removed.

The former had proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was the descendant and _heir_ of Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Founders. He had been so ectastic at the confirmation of his long held belief that he demanded the ring worn by the Lord of the House. His hopes were immediately dashed when the goblins revealed no such ring was present in Gringotts and all vaults relating to the House of Slytherin were closed during the Founding of Hogwarts.

Voldemort had railed for close to a half an hour – time which the goblins later charged him for – at the injustice of a missing ring before forcibly imposing a measure of calm on his raging mind and examining the rest of his ancestry. A distant relation to the now defunct Peverell line and a few houses he could not identify at a quick glance were all that was present.

He had left Gringotts with results in hand, mightily pleased that his ancestry and angered beyond belief at the world for, once again, denying him that which he had always desired.

During his meeting with the three lords, Voldemort had revealed his Slytherin ancestry, drawing shocked, curious and contemplative looks from the three. They decided to incorporate his status as the ' _Heir of Slytherin_ ' into the myth they would create as part of their plan to rule Wizarding Britain.

Once the plan was implemented and, later, the First Wizarding War had begun in earnest, Voldemort knew the time had arrived to remove the three lords who believed themselves to be the true puppeteers of the pureblood movement. The lords had become incessant in their demands and he could no longer play the role of an obedient puppet.

While the war progressed in violence, Voldemort manipulated Lucius Malfoy into killing his father, Abraxas Malfoy, and hiding the murder under the guise of dragon pox. He _guided_ the Lestrange brothers in the murder of their father and lord, Balthazar Lestrange, and planted evidence pointing to the Prewetts as the culprits. For the third and final lord, Aldrich Rosier, he engineered a potions accident during the man's visit to a potions manufacturing plant near Coventry in the West Midlands.

Once his three so-called 'masters' were dead, he obliviated their sons of any knowledge of his hand in their deaths and charmed them to his side as true followers by carefully manipulating their opinions of the deceased and placing blame squarely on the half-blood houses and muggleborns, a factor which played neatly into their view of the world.

To this day, Voldemort considered the plan to be one of his more brilliant schemes. Not only had he deceived the three lords who wished to turn him into a puppet figure, he had also secured the loyalty of the heirs to their respective houses while building an army of followers away from the eyes of the deceased lords and whose loyalty lay with him and him alone. The rest, as people loved to say, was history. Over the course of the war, he had all but come close to destroying the British Ministry with Dumbledore, Moody and a few members of his pathetic Order being the only meaningful resistance faced by his death eaters.

Voldemort's pale lips curled into a malevolent smile as his mind plotted opportunities and ideas to slowly torture the current remnants of the so called Order of the Phoenix as he ripped their bonds to pieces and turned their families to blood, bone and ash.

A sound of crunching bones drew Voldemort from his euphoric musings. Red eyes stared at his familiar Nagini who was slowly slithering across the long table as she leisurely devoured the petrified body of the woman lying on the enchanted wooden surface. He heard the bones of the woman break, crush and sizzle from the acid in his familiar as Nagini worked her enlarged mouth past the hip of the woman. On a whim, he stared at the eyes of the still petrified woman whose mouth lay open in silent terror. A shiver of pleasure ran across his spine at the naked fear, pain and agony visible in the pale yellow eyes staring at him in a silent plead for mercy.

Voldemort felt his insides squirm in undisguised pleasure as her terror increased when Nagini made her way across the now dissolving breasts of the filthy little whore. The malevolent smile returned to his lips and he found the terror increase further, an occurrence he did not think was possible even as Nagini's fangs pierced the neck of the woman. A few seconds later, he hummed in quiet satisfaction as his familiar devoured the whore entirely before leaving the table to curl at his feet.

Voldemort closed his eyes and inhaled in the fear, anxiety, joy and anticipation of his followers. Opening his eyes, he stared at his inner circle seated on either side of the table. From his elevated throne at the head of the table, his eyes roved over each and every member of his inner circle, people who deluded themselves into believing they were his most _trusted_ followers.

To Voldemort's left were seated Augustus Rookwood, Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange and Corban Yaxley. To his right sat Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Severus Snape, Alexander Nott, Rothford Carrow and Fenrir Greyback.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the sight of Severus Snape, his death eater who had spent the past fourteen years in the comfort of Dumbledore's protection and was one of the first to respond to his summons to the graveyard at Little Hangleton. The man had been a wealth of information regarding the Order of the Phoenix and the state of affairs at Hogwarts while Dumbledore tried to curb his influence at the Ministry, a futile endeavour the old fool refused to abandon even at the cost of losing what little political support he once possessed.

Voldemort's frown deepened at thoughts of the deceased Headmaster. It seemed that the man continued to occupy his every other waking hour these days. While he was dismissive of the old fool's ability to play games in the shadows of governments and people – the public nature of the Order being one such example – he could not ignore the power of the man who brought Grindelwald and his forces to their knees before defeating his former friend in a duel that was talked about to this day. That said nothing of the man's status as a Battle-Transfiguration Master and the protégé of Nicholas Flamel, the Grandmaster of the Alchemist Guild and a member of the elusive Council. The fool was also the only _mage_ born in the past two hundred years to possess the ability of ' _Magesight_ '.

Voldemort did not suffer from a lack of knowledge or competence. There were reasons why Dumbledore was the one death he desired above all others. Not only had the man refused to be taken in by his charm and guile during his days at Hogwarts, he had proved to be a constant thorn in his side throughout the previous war. The old fool had given him cause to retreat nearly every time they met on the field of battle and led the Order of Phoenix, a bunch of witches and wizards who were responsible for thwarting many of his schemes and capturing or killing his followers. He would have liked nothing better than to wring the old man dry of every single drop of blood as he slaughtered his beloved students in front of those irritatingly twinkling blue eyes. He had spent years exercising his mind, creating and discarding torture schemes that would bring the greatest amount of pain to that shrivelled foolish mind.

After his failed assault of the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort had created a delicious scheme that would see the old fool begging for death when the news of Dumbledore's death was delivered by Severus. At first, he wondered if Severus was not taken in by some form of illusion that addled the mind. Dumbledore had no cause to die. Their battle in the atrium of the British Ministry proved that Dumbledore had not lost his deft touch in magical combat and, to his everlasting irritation, the old man had escaped with nary a scratch on his outlandishly gaudy robes.

Yet, two weeks after his failed attempt at retrieve the prophecy, here was Severus informing him that Dumbledore had died to a curse of all things. If that bit of news had failed to shock him, the next piece certainly destroyed any illusions. According to Severus, who received the news from the school nurse, Dumbledore died of a curse cast at his hands. He – Voldemort – had cast a curse that was responsible for killing the old fool.

Thankfully, his shock was hidden behind his occlumentic shields and dampeners even as his followers exulted in joy. The news shared by Severus should not have been anything but a pack of lies but, two days later, a funeral was held and the body of Albus Dumbledore buried in a tomb on the shores of the Black lake.

At the confirmation of his long awaited hope, a single thought played his mind over and over again.

 _How did the old fool die!?_

If asked, Voldemort would readily admit, except for that foolish Potter boy, there was no death he coveted more and none he despised greater. _However_ , this was one death that, while he would joyously claim credit for in front of his subordinates, he wished to investigate to find the true cause and culprit.

The announcement was the other point that unnerved Voldemort. Why would Dumbledore, even _if_ he was cursed by Voldemort, choose to announce it to the world? Dumbledore must have known such an announcement would strengthen the position of Voldemort and the death eaters greatly. The fool's death would sap the people of what little hope they possessed. So why would Dumbledore, a man with decades of experience in politics, choose a suicidal lie which strengthened his most hated enemy?

 _Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong._

Another note-worthy fact - which Voldemort believed to be of even _greater_ importance was that – was that the connection between him and Potter, the mysterious tether linking their minds was no longer present. No matter the skills he employed, he could either no longer find the link - an unlikely occurrence - or the bond had ceased to exist.

Ever since Voldemort had discovered the tether linking his mind with the bloody teenager who just would not die, he had exploited the bond to ensure that Potter, the bane of his existence, suffered under far more severe nightmares until his body and mind were so overcome with fatigue, it would be child's play to manoeuvre the teenager into retrieving the prophecy for him.

After Severus had delivered the news of Dumbledore's death, Voldemort had spent hours trying to find the blasted link between him and Potter only to find that it no longer existed. That had generated several questions including when did the tether disappear and how.

"Severus," Voldemort intoned and the man in question showed a hint of surprise before quickly masking his reaction. A thin smile played on his lips at the proficiency on display. Severus had always been the most skilled Occlumens among his followers. He suspected that the man's proficiency in the art surpassed his own. "Has Potter made any leaps in the mind arts? Has he even developed rudimentary occlumentic shields?"

Severus stared at the dark lord even as Bellatrix snarled at the mention of Potter. "No, my lord. Potter is as hopeless as ever. The boy has no talent for the mind arts. It remains the emotional cesspool of hormones much like any teenage brat and he has yet to develop any sense of subtlety. I do believe he has failed to resume his studies in the field since his return to Hogwarts under Dumbledore's protection."

Voldemort kept a blank look of interest even as he inwardly frowned. The last statement made a smile rise on his lips. Severus had always possessed the talent to phrase matters in a manner that would not displease him. "The unfortunate but useful connection has ceased to exist before I could perform any meaningful analysis on the matter." Pale fingers drummed the arm of his throne. "Tell me, Severus, did you notice anything strange either before or after the day Dumbledore died?"

Severus's face was a blank mask. "There were rumours among the staff, my lord. According to McGonagall and Flitwick, the office of the headmaster required extensive repairs though the circumstances behind the events which led to such are unknown."

Voldemort hummed in thought. "Did you know the disposition of Albus Dumbledore immediately prior to his death?"

The potions master nodded in affirmation. "If I may be so bold, I believe, and the staff at Hogwarts would agree with my assessment, that Albus Dumbledore was _looking forward_ to his death. One could even say he was eager."

Voldemort felt a migraine growing. Why would the _old fool_ readily expect his fate, especially when he, Lord Voldemort, had announced his return to the world in a manner that terrified the wizarding public. For years, the old fool had thwarted him off in the most unexpected of situations and yet had never truly pursued his destruction. Now, at the precipice of Voldemort's public return, Dumbledore had joyously _embraced death_? At a time when the public needed the man, the hope more than ever?

Voldemort felt his migraine build at the maddening puzzle that was Albus Dumbledore.

 _What did you know that I don't, Albus Dumbledore?_

The Prophecy orb was destroyed and the person who had received the prophecy was now dead. There was a high probability that Dumbledore might have revealed the prophecy and its contents to Potter, but he doubted Dumbledore would walk that path.

 _The old man had certainly not told him anything about the Prophecy all this while. Why would that change now?_

It was not a comforting thought. Now, the boy's mind was closed to him and the only way to capture the boy would be to wait until school began unless…

"Severus," Voldemort drawled, "where does Potter stay during the summer?"

Snape had a strange look on his face. "I really… could not say, My Lord."

"Noted." The Dark Lord acknowledged.

 _The boy must be under a Fidelius._

Voldemort leaned in his straight back chair and storked Nagini when she placed her head in his lap. He did make several attempts to retrieve the prophecy since the day he was resurrected. The Hall of Prophecies within the Department of Mysteries was open to everyone. One would simply have to either send a request to see the prophecy provided they were part of one or one could simply enter the DOM main chamber, walk through a room containing a crystal bell jar – Voldemort had analysed the jar and the bird it contained and surmised it be some form of advanced intent based defence which did something to anyone entering the room with the intent to harm the Hall itself though he doubted the measure was as simply as he believed it to be - and past the door to enter the Hall of Prophecies and spend as long as they liked in there, provided they either found a prophecy that belonged to them or went mad from the enchantments.

Voldemort knew the rightful candidate could simply pluck the orb of the shelf for he knew the prophecy was related to him. But the words ' _Dark Lord_ ' were ambiguous enough that he dared not risk the wrath of the protective enchantments on the room. The test subjects he sent in to procure the orb for him were probably lying on the slabs of a sterile room as the Unspeakables used them for unspeakable experiments.

The security measure spoke volumes regarding the nature of the DOM and the Unspeakables who worked there.

 _Walk in and collect a free glowing orb. If it belongs to you, you shall make merry. If it does not, we shall enjoy the results._

Voldemort gritted his teeth for he had tried and failed to break the enchantments on the orbs, shelves or the room or any single piece of the DOM. All his attempts had ended in failure and one disastrous attempt had nearly returned him to a wraith. He had stopped all experiments after that incident.

After days of poring over ancient tomes and cutting edge ward design, Voldemort enacted the next phase of his plan. Retrieve one capable of aiding him in dismantling or, at the very least, breaking the enchantments of the DOM. He did know of one man who could be capable of such an action for he had prior experience with the DOM.

A member of his inner circle. Augustus Rookwood. A high-ranking ex-Unspeakable.

Voldemort stifled a sigh at the effort it took him to break into the mighty fortress of Azkaban. Let it never be known the effort a dark lord of his calibre had to put forth to retrieve his faithful followers from the prison. The dementors were not beings one negotiated with in the same manner as humans. Dementors were beings of the realm of death. They were as old as the planet itself and were known to reform even if they were reduced to ashes. It was an exercise of the highest order to negotiate with them on the assumption they would not choose to simply suck your soul and leave you a mindless husk.

Voldemort would have simply cast a spell of hellfire and burned them to dust as he assaulted the prison with the deadliest of magics at his command. However, the beings would be reborn soon and were known to hold grudges for long. It would be detrimental to his plans of building an army for he needed them on _his_ side.

That had left with a single option. Negotiation.

The talks, if one could even talk with a being that desired things beyond human ken, had taken over a month of negotiations but the Voice of the colony and Voldemort had come to agreement. After he had delivered on his part of the agreement, the dementors had held up their end.

It had been child's play to retrieve his followers once he had gained their support.

Only if that had been the last of his worries.

Apparently, the Unspeakables were more pragmatic than Voldemort gave them credit for. When Augustus Rookwood was arrested, tried and declared guilty for his actions as a death eater, the Department of Mysteries declared the man an oath-breaker and promptly activated the penalty clauses in the contract signed by all their employees. Once the clauses were activated, Rookwood lost every single memory which related to his life as an unspeakable save for the knowledge that he once worked for them and the reason he lost his memories. The penalty had left him bereft of every single piece of knowledge he had ever exploited using his status as an unspeakable leaving gaps in the mindscape where none should exist. That and the dementor exposure during his stay in the high security wing had not helped the man.

Voldemort had murdered several of his low ranking followers in anger after learning of Rookwood's memory removal. Exhausting all his options had left him with a path he did not wish to take ever again. However, he had no choice. He needed the knowledge of the prophecy to prevent a repeat of the Halloween night of 1981.

Swallowing his pride, Voldemort contacted the one man in earth he had vowed to never again meet in a position of subservience.

 _Theobald_ Rookwood.

The hundred and fifteen-year-old warlock, one of the greatest masters of the arcane arts, was not a man Voldemort wished to fight on his best day. The man was the leader of the notorious Knights of Walpurgis, one of the oldest organizations devoted to various causes across a broad spectrum. The Knights were a congregation of the greatest warlocks on earth whose power rivalled the Council.

When Voldemort had first left Britain to travel the world, he had the fortune – To this day, he was not sure if it was good or bad – of meeting Theobald Rookwood. Recognising Voldemort's potential, Theobald had taken the twenty-two-year-old Riddle under his wing as a personal apprentice. For over a decade, Theobald had taught him everything he knew in the hope that Voldemort would become a member of the Knights. However, Voldemort had deserted the man and his band of sycophantic followers and began taking his first step to become the greatest warlock in history.

And when the Dark Lord Voldemort had struck Britain, Theobald's descendant Augustus had joined the ranks of the death eaters.

When faced with the truth that Augustus would be of no help in dismantling the enchantments, Voldemort had no choice to ask his former mentor for his help.

" _ **You rejected my teachings, broke your vows, and deserted our organisation to fulfil your mundane aspirations. Why would you even contemplate that I provide any help to fulfil dreams that are better left to rot?"**_

" _ **If you did not wish to help me, you would not be standing here, Theobald." Voldemort smiled cruelly. "Since you prefer direct speech, let me make myself clear. I know you wish to provide your help. In return, I shall grant you the favour you desire from me. So, tell me what do you need?**_

 _ **Theobald mirrored Voldemort's explosion. "Nice to see you still have a spine, Tom. Very well. I shall be direct. I will provide you with the necessary measures to break into the Hall of Prophecies provided you retrieve an ancient and powerful artefact for me."**_

 _ **Voldemort frowned in confusion. "Why would you need my help for such a task? The Knights are well connected and possess the manpower and resources to undertake a simple search."**_

 _ **Theobald's smile deepened. "I do not need to search, Tom. I already know you possess the artefact. I merely ask that you give it to me."**_

 _ **Voldemort felt uneasy at his mentor's expression and words. "I do not understand your words, Theobald. Be clear."**_

" _ **The Ewer of Helga Hufflepuff."**_

 _ **Voldemort blanched and went deathly still. "You-"**_

 _ **Theobald did not smile though his expression was no less sinister for it. "We have never stopped observing you, Tom. Did you not think we would look into your past when I took you on as my apprentice? Tying a house elf to a murder? I expected better of you. You can thank the Root for the bigotry and ignorance running rampant in the British Isles. As for the request, I have given you the price for my help. I want the Ewer of Hufflepuff which you have converted into a horcrux."**_

" _ **Impossible." Voldemort declared.**_

" _ **Hmm…" Theobald relaxed on the couch. "Then I am afraid, we are at an impasse."**_

Once he realised his mentor would not budge on his stance, Voldemort, after giving the matter due consideration and questioning his decision dozens of times, had placed the horcrux in the hands of Theobald after extracting several oaths and an added favour. True to his word, Theobald had provided him with the means to break the enchantments of the DOM though the man warned him that the blood curse on the orbs themselves might still be active.

The rest had only been too easy.

A subtle compulsion and a counterfeited memory was it took for Voldemort to drag Potter from the safety of his school and into Hall of Prophecies so that the boy could retrieve the prophecy orb for him. Voldemort had planned to wait for his inner circle who would capture the boy and the orb before bringing both to him.

Voldemort gritted his teeth in silent frustration as the idiotic boy had to tear his plans apart, again. Not only had the boy caused several of his inner circle to be arrested, he had also destroyed the prophecy orb for which Voldemort had sacrificed a horcrux for.

After the battle, Voldemort had screamed in frustration and rage as he murdered dozens of wand fodder. Months of planning and the loss of one of his precious anchors had all been for naught.

Feeling his magic rise in response to his emotions, Voldemort composed himself in order to ensure his followers did not sense anything was amiss. He should be wallowing in the aftermath of the battle. He had received a silver lining for his trouble.

Albus Dumbledore, for reasons he had yet to grasps, had left this plane and moved on to the Root. Harry Potter was now an unprotected child he could destroy at will.

 _I will have to capture the boy once the school begins. His friends should prove sufficient incentive for the boy to walk into my trap._

 _Wait._

 _His friends._

"Lucius…" he finally spoke in a tone of power and seduction.

"Yes… yes, my Lord?" Lucius Malfoy stammered uncharacteristically.

"I require your son, Draco, to perform a simple task for me. He must be eager to prove himself to be a members of our ranks. Send him to my chambers in one hour and we shall discuss his worth."

"Of course, my Lord." Lucius stood up, his entire stance radiating nothing but discomfort. "I will do so immediately." He quickly walked away as the Dark Lord's face turned pensive.

Ever since he had successfully completed negotiations with the Dementor colony, Azkaban had become his property. His inner circle, despite getting captured and thrown back into the prison, had broken out in a matter of hours as the guards had fallen prey to the dementors.

Harry Potter's friends will die torturous deaths at the hands of his followers even as the Ministry fell under his control. Voldemort smiled with a maliciousness that was positively monstrous.

 _I will kill all of your loved ones, Harry Potter. I shall kill him with no more thought than one would give to prized meat. I will force you to watch as your family is slaughtered, your friends turned against you, leaving you as a bare husk of a human. Then, when you are torn from the inside, preferring the company of death… begging me to show mercy… Then I will grant you permission to die, at my hand._

Rothford Carrow spoke nervously. "My Lord."

Voldemort stared at the man, his displeasure leaking through his voice. "Do you have news for me, Rothford?"

Carrow gulped. "Yes, My Lord. I would like to inform you of the new changes to the Hogwarts staff."

Red eyes narrowed at the man who appeared to be extremely nervous.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE:**

 **Character Roster**

 **Alexander Nott: Jed Brophy (Nazgul in Lord of The Rings)**

 **Amelia Bones: Claudia Black (Dahlia from The Originals TV Show)**

 **Augusta Longbottom: Judi Dench (M from 'Skyfall' movie)**

 **Augustus Rookwood: Peter Facinelli**

 **Corban Yaxley: John Noble (Walter Bishop from The Fringe TV Show)**

 **Fleur Delacour: Sandrine Marlier.**

 **Lucius Malfoy: Jason Issacs.**

 **Matthias Edvards Fernard: Tom Cavanagh (Harrison Wells from The Flash TV Show)**

 **Nathaniel Smith: Oliver Platt.**

 **Rothford Carrow: Theo Rossi.**

 **Tristan Greengrass: Colin Firth.**

 **Theobald Rookwood: Matt Nable (Ra's al Ghul from** _ **The Arrow)**_


	6. Chapter 5

_Harry stared at the sky in fascination. Unlike the usual blue of a bright morning sky, the orange hues of evening or the black of night, it was crimson. An extremely deep shade of crimson. At a closer glance, he realised it was the exact same colour as blood. The clouds passing through the eerily crimson sky changed shades on a moment's notice though he observed no single cloud was the same colour and they seemed to alternate between colours with no rhyme or reason. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, pink, orange, violet… any and every shade of colour Harry had ever seen in his life were present on the clouds. He wondered why the crimson of the sky did not seem overwhelmed by the multitude of colourful swirls travelling across it. In fact, it looked like the crimson seemed to swallow up the clouds. A spark lit up his mind as realisation struck. Those were not clouds at all. There were swirling vortexes – Magic, if Harry was right about his guess – of energies that changed form and colour in a pattern – if it was a pattern – that was hard to discern._

 _Lowering his gaze found Harry staring at the distant horizon where the unnatural sky and the land he stood on met. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the narrow band of blue bordering the horizon. A shift of his eyes to discern the land he stood revealed a vast expanse of hill and hillocks filled with naught but bare ground. Seeing such a bare landscape was jarring to his visual senses for he was used to the watching the bustling chaos of London or the mind-bending magic of Hogwarts castle and the green and trees occupying its grounds._

 _Harry knew he should have been far more alarmed and apprehensive on finding himself in a strange land consisting of an abnormal sky, unnatural clouds and a desolate world he had never witnessed even in a dream. He should have been looking for ways to get himself out of the predicament he was currently in. It might be a trap set by his enemies or his mind had finally fractured and the swirling vortexes of colour above his head were pieces of his fragmented mind he needed to capture and piece together like Dudley's puzzles he used to play with when he was not locked in his cupboard and had the house to himself for a few hours._

 _Yet, Harry did nothing but stand there in silence. For reasons he was sure he needed to learn, he had never felt more at peace. His mind, his still fractured and slowly healing mind, told him he need not worry. He belonged here, in this strange landscape of crimson, blue and brown containing innumerable swirls of ever changing forms and colours._

 _Feeling quite enthused, Harry spun on the spot, taking in the land he had never seen before yet his heart felt a peace it had no right to. The smile on his face did not vanish when he spotted the only anomaly on the barren landscape._

 _Smile shifting into an expression of curiosity, Harry began walking towards the object he seen sticking through the ground several yards away. As he came closer to the object, he realise it was not an anomalous growth springing up through the ground._

 _Harry blinked once he was finally close enough to recognise the anomaly. It was a sword. Part of the narrow silver hexagonal blade was below ground while the hilt glowed in the pale light inundating the land. The egg sized rubies studding the hilt burned with an energy he had only felt once before when he had wielded the sword in defence of his life._

 _Harry would recognise the sword even when his life was at an end and his memories were nothing but dust. The sword had saved his life and the life of his best friend's sister years ago. He had used the ancient weapon to slay the basilisk within the Chamber of Secrets and destroy the diary which was a horcrux of Tom Riddle._

 _The Sword of Godric Gryffindor. The ancient relic of one of the Four Founders of Hogwarts made of goblin silver, a material which does not allow dirt to stain it and imbibes only that which makes it stronger._

 _Standing before the weapon, Harry wondered why it had appeared to him now in this barren landscape. He did not know where '_ here _ **'**_ _was and doubted there was any danger he needed to face at the moment. Dumbledore had narrated the tale of the sword, explaining that the Sorting Hat would bestow the fabled weapon onto a Hogwarts student in his time of need, though Harry had no idea._

 _Harry quickly looked around his surroundings and found nothing but the strange landscape. Shifting his gaze to the Gryffindor's sword, he mused on drawing on the sword. There was no danger present from what he could see though it was no guarantee. As Ron once put it, He 'could be fooling around in Madam Puddifoot's Teashop and the lace would still try to kill him'._

 _Resolving himself to escape the situation he would get stuck, Harry extended his right arm and gripped the hilt. A split second later, bright yellow flames wrapped around the hilt. In his haste to get away from the flames, he tried to pull his hand only to realise his_ entire body _would not budge an inch. Flames began slithering their way across the blade and up his arm. Harry could feel the flames were harmless – they even imparted a sense of warmth to his soul – for his skin remained unharmed. But he did not trust that situation to last long._

 _Harry began pulling hard as the flames made their way across his elbow. He exerted every ounce of strength he possessed but his body would not budge. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the sword had cast a petrification hex on him. Shaking off the thought, he pushed himself harder for the flames were now covering his chest and were moving to his hips and legs._

 _Taking a deep breath, Harry tried again with all his strength and felt a finger move. The happiness at feeling one 0f his body parts move was taken over by the absolute fear of the fire crawling up his face. He tried to open his mouth in a scream-_

* * *

 **June 3 1996**

Harry woke with a start, his breathing loud in the silence of the room. His body felt far too warm though he could not feel the accumulation of sweat that usually followed such vivid dreams. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes to remove any traces of sleep and yawning. Pinching himself to ensure this was not another part of his incredibly strange dream world, he glanced around the brightly lit room and sighed. The lights had turned on again.

The lights at Grimmauld Place used a modified Lumos charm which activated when the specific ward connected to them detected the person within was awake. It had taken Harry a few tries before he realised the lights could be turned off by a simple voice command. He hated the ward as he preferred the darkness of the night when we woke up from a bad dream or nightmare. It helped calm him down far more than a well lit room.

Vowing to remove the detection ward soon, Harry threw off the blankets and placed his feet on the ground, allowing the slight chill of the wooden flooring to seep through his feet. Forgoing his glasses, he walked up to his newly discovered door, opened it and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the street. He had discovered this piece of architecture yesterday when he had been staring at the street in thought and his right hand was absently stroking the window. Three circular strokes in what we believed was just another spot on the window had brought him surprise and anxiety in equal measure when the entire wall began transforming in so silent a manner that Harry who was generally used to the bustle and noise of his transfiguration classroom was unnerved. Moments later, a door formed in the centre of the wall with the two windows moving to either side of the wood. Interest warring with caution, he had opened the door – wand in hand - in the hopes of finding a secret room hidden within a space expanded wall or a rather dangerous trap and found nothing but a plain balcony with tasteful railings. Another piece of the balcony puzzle he had discovered after much experimentation was that it could not be seen from anywhere but the room he currently resided in.

Harry was not sure why Regulus - if it was Regulus in the first place - would choose to create a balcony using silent transfiguration and then hide the entire enchantment using powerful obscurity and notice-me-not charms sealed under a subtle password charm that all but screamed paranoia or, more appropriately, the fear of being caught. Harry figured it might have been the latter considering the comments Sirius made on his mother's behaviour and the unpleasant nature of her portrait before he had it removed. From what he knew of Walburga, he surmised that she was an incredible control freak with a streak of insanity and a penchant for corporal punishment whenever one of her precious rules were broken.

 _I bet Vernon and Wlaburga would have shared torture notes over a cup of tea._ Harry's mind supplied, causing him to grimace at the thought of a female version of Vernon stalking the halls of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius did tell Harry that Regulus was the favoured heir and son of Walburga though standing in the cold air wafting across the balcony, Harry surmised that the balcony might have been Regulus's attempt that having a piece of his life that his mother did not control, though the balcony did feel a tad too ostentatious an attempt at teenage rebellion. He snorted at the thought.

Harry had no right at calling this attempt ostentatious when his rebellion consisted of teaching a secret group of students under the nose of the Ministry hag who turned Hogwarts into a metaphorical Privet Drive and was reported missing since the centaurs carried her away. Thankfully, the DMLE were none too keen on enquiring into the matter for neither him nor his friends had been interrogated on the matter. Dumbledore did share a few stories and anecdotes on Director Amelia Bones and he mused if she had deliberately delayed the investigation or, even better, bothered to do anything more than write a four- line report and file it away in some dusty drawer.

That brought up the thought as to why Harry or his friends had not been questioned by the DMLE or the DOM regarding the battle at the Department of Mysteries. The Ministry must have been swamped with the news of Voldemort, the daft public crying in outrage at the incompetence of the equally daft government but that would mean information regarding the battle would be considered high priority and Harry and his friends would have been questioned on the matter by now.

Chalking the matter up to Fudge's usual incompetent bumbling, Harry stared at the buildings across the street as the sky lit up in pale yellow signifying the imminent sunrise. Leaning on the railing, he cast a tempus charm and took one look at the time before heaving a deep sigh. He had sequestered himself in the room the moment the Weasleys had left the building and poured the ward schema he had collected from his spells at the Gaunt Shack. Despite getting rid of the horcrux in himself, he had retained his ability to speak and understand parseltongue which had proved to be very beneficial. From his limited knowledge and analysis of the ward schema, he had learnt that there were no more five wards on the structure though they were cast in an entirely different language – Harry had thanked Dumbledore profusely for teaching him the analytic spells for wards cast in esoteric languages – and had to be dismantled with the greatest of care lest his attempt inform Tom and start a fight he doubted he could survive at the moment, especially when that bastard's previous horcruxes were threatened. For now, he felt himself incredibly lucky for retaining his parselmouth ability as wards cast in a specific tongue could only be _safely_ removed in said tongue.

While Harry never really had much faith in divination, he could understand that his life so far had been a miraculous string of luck and irony with events occurring in the fashion that at a fast approaching point in the future, he would have to face Tom, whether he was prepared for the resulting fight or not. There were plenty of times over the past four years where wondered if Tom was just that stupid enough to believe in the words of a drunk and attack a child who had been part of the world for no more than a year and three months.

Harry drooped at the weight on his shoulders. The horcruxes needed to be destroyed, Tom had to be defeated, his followers imprisoned or killed and the Council's interest in him needed to be neutralised or evaded. _Prophecies,_ He fumed in anger, _were not worth the effort people exerted to evade them._

 _And the Dark Lord would mark him as his equal._

Harry did not have a clue as to what the true meaning of the line was. It was one of his biggest problems at the moment. He could not match Tom in terms of knowledge or skill. If the ritual he had taken part in was executed to perfection, he would have had access to a greater level of information, gained improved skills and would not be suffering under erratic mental defences or a fractured mindscape.

There was no point in crying over spilt potion. Albus Dumbledore was dead and could not help him from beyond the grave. He was going to have to do the best he could with what he had. Though there was an extra piece of the puzzle he had yet to solve and was currently tearing his hair out on his pathetic attempts at understanding the problem.

 _And He would have power the Dark Lord knows not._

Harry's talk in the afterlife with the Magic-personified entity (he still had trouble believing it) had provided him with the information that he possessed a True Magic though, to be honest, he had yet to understand the true meaning of the term. Even Dumbledore, a centennial mage with decades of experience with the esoteric art, knew very little on the subject. His conversation with the deceased headmaster on the subject was confusing, to say the least.

* * *

 _ **May 21, 1996**_

" _Professor, the… entities I met during my stint in the… umm,_ other world _told me that I possessed something called True Magic. You said the magic was called Projection and gave me an explanation which contained no useful information. I can't seem to find anything on the subject in the books you've given me and you keep running in circles around the topic every time I ask you any questions." Harry's tone was hard and accusatory. "I want to know why you refuse to speak about '_ True Magic _'. You promised to hold no secrets from me, Professor. I hope you're not trying to break that."_

 _Albus Dumbledore winced. Harry's accusations were true and right on the point though he had not even tried to break his promise. He had danced around the point long enough. He leaned in his high backed chair, preparing for the long explanation that would follow his answer._

" _I have not broken my promise to you, Harry. I never intended to break my word. But you must understand that I cannot answer certain questions whether you ask me twice or twenty."_

" _Why not?" Harry knew his tone was petulant but he did not care at the moment. He had skimmed entire volumes on the foundations of magic itself and found nothing but philosophical ramblings and analogies that made no sense to him. "Is it because of another oath?"_

 _Albus smiled. "No, Harry. The reason I cannot answer your questions on the matter is far less complex than you believe it is. The answer is that I do not know."_

 _Harry scrunched his face in thought. "You don't know how to explain it to me? I know I didn't understand most of the material you taught me and probably years away from understanding the rest but you can teach me the basics, can't you? I'm not stupid."_

 _Albus's smile widened. "Miss Granger would be right pleased to hear you show an interest in learning." He tactfully ignored Harry's blush of embarrassment. "No, Harry, you miss understand me. I do not possess the knowledge you truly need. I know no more on the subject of '_ True Magic _' than any other magus who does not possess one."_

 _Harry rubbed his forehead in frustration. Dumbledore no longer held back any information he requested unless it was bound by another oath though the headmaster still held the annoying habit of dragging the discussion beyond the necessary length of time. For a fleeting minute, he wondered if Dumbledore had ever spoken in direct, concise terms. "Explain, Professor, in clean simple terms."_

 _Albus wanted to point out that Harry looked exactly like Amelia when she found one of his answers particularly frustrating. The expressions on the young man's face stopped him. "The explanation is long winded, Harry. I suggest you relax." When Harry glowered, he wisely chose to begin explaining. "As you know, Harry, Magecraft is defined as the actualization of miracles, or magical effects, as per the rules of the Thaumaturgical system one utilises to achieve said effect. Thaumaturgical system – Thaumaturgy for short - is the general term one uses to address the numerous schools of magic that are present all across the world. In this case, schools of magic refers to the type of magic you rely on."_

" _For example, Europe and MACUSA uses the Roman Thaumaturgical system which relies on foci using the cores of powerful magical species to help a magus focus the magic within their bodies, allowing one to perform extremely efficient spells. Magi who practice this system are known as witches or wizards."_

" _Africa relies on a Spirit-based Thaumaturgical system that calls on the spirits of their ancestors and utilises a heavy emphasis on soul magic to achieve magical effects. We call people who practice this system Shamans, Priests, Divinator and a whole host of terms."_

" _In a similar vein, many magical nations practice their own form of magic – a Thaumaturgical system – each possessing its own particular set of laws, limitations and dangers. No system is considered superior or inferior to the other though," Albus chuckled, "there is a long standing debate between the Chinese and Japanese over who created the art of Onmyoudo. It is a particularly entertaining event to watch a Chinese and Japanese representative snipe at each other but it is no less grating on the nerves."_

" _I digress. The point, Harry, is that, given infinite time and resources, it is possible for all of these systems to achieve any event that is considered possible in the present." Albus leaned forward and interlocked his fingers under his chin. "Muggles have travelled to the moon and back, Harry. Have you ever heard of the event?"_

 _Harry nodded. "My primary school teacher once played a recording for my class of the first moon landing. He told us that we studied real hard, we could do the same things those astronauts did. Wait!" He wondered if Dumbledore understood the terms. "Let me explain. Recordi-"_

 _Albus interrupted with a smile. "No need to explain the terms, Harry. I understand them." At Harry's surprised and mortified look, he explained, "No need to feel embarrassed, Harry. Lily used to organise a Television night at Potter Manor every month for the Order and strong armed us into attending them for '_ educational purposes _'."_

 _Harry beamed at the thought of his mum lecturing the Order. He chuckled at an impression of his mother dragging Dumbledore to sit in a sofa by his beard._

 _Albus smiled in grief at the thought of those lost by a madman's lust for power. "I learned by several things during those sessions. I daresay so did the rest of the Order but did you know no magus has ever set foot on the moon?" At Harry's blank look of confusion, he elucidated, "Given proper coordinates, we can apparate or portkey to anywhere on the planet. But we do require the proper coordinates. Since Magus has ever travelled to the moon, we do not possess the coordinates of the celestial object and, therefore, cannot apparate or portkey to the moon."_

 _Harry nodded in understanding._

 _Albus smiled. "Consider the Lumos Charm. It conjures up a source of light. Muggles have electricity which can utilised to perform the same function and more."_

 _Harry's brows furrowed as his mind raced in thougt. The headmaster had the annoying but useful habit of deviating from his explanations into analogies that made no sense upon first glance, forcing him to analyse the words and their relation to the current topic. "So…" He chose his words carefully, "If I understood this correctly, you are telling me that… Science and Magecraft are two sides of same coin."_

 _Albus beamed with pride. Harry was a talented magus who simply needed to apply him. While reading books or theory papers might cause him to lose interest, a practical explanation of the topics allowed him to grasp them with ease._

 _Harry asked, "Does that mean that science can achieve everything magic can do right now?"_

 _Albus nodded. "Provided infinite time and resources, Science can achieve everything possible in magecraft. In reverse, Magecraft can perform any task achieved though science provided infinite time and resources." His tone and expression turned grave. "However, there are certain effects, miracles, phenomena… use any term you wish. There are some things that neither magic nor science nor a combination of both can achieve."_

" _However, there is a form of magic that surpasses all of our expectations, which ignores the laws of nature and rewrites it to suit its whims and is capable of phenomena that it is simply beyond our feeble imagination. The name given to this kind of magic is known as '_ True Magic _'."_

 _Harry blinked at the explanation, still trying to understand what he was hearing._

 _Albus chuckled at the confusion visible on Harry's face. "I had the exact same look when it was first explained to me too. In simple terms, True Magic is capable of grand feats that we cannot imagine as it ignores all laws of science and magic. They do not have limits in a manner that an average magus or scientist can measure."_

 _Harry struggled to comprehend the scope of the headmaster was trying to explain to him. His brain felt sluggish at the information it had just received. Trying to not look like a blubbering fool, he asked, "So how does a person gain True Magic?"_ And how could I be born with a magic like that?

 _Albus frowned. "To be honest, Harry, I have no definitive answer to your question." He paused for a moment and considered the words he had just spoken. "Let me rephrase my answer. There is_ no _definitive answer to that question. Not even the most learned magi at the Clock Tower or the Masters of the International Guilds possess an answer to that question."_

 _Harry raised an eyebrow._

 _Albus's moustache quivered. "According to accepted lore, the Root - also known as the Akashic Records, Truth and hundreds of terms over the millennia – is the source of all events, phenomena and possibilities. It is the place where souls originate from and the where they travel to after death. It is the archive of all possibilities of every single event of the past, present and future of every world. A magus achieves True Magic by travelling to the Root and creating an Akashic Gate, a path from which True Magic originates."_

 _Harry felt his mind explode at the information he was receiving. Metaphorically, of course._

 _Albus nodded. "One of the requirements to achieve a True Magic is that one must be the first to travel through a specific path leading to the Root. Those who come after the magus, even if they use the same theory and methods, cannot achieve True Magic. However, even if you do reach the Root, there is no guarantee that one will gain access to True Magic."_

 _Harry outright scowled and muttered. "Of course, we wouldn't want to make things too easy now, would we."_

 _Albus laughed heartily. "That is because my dear boy, while_ Magecraft _represents the pinnacle of human ingenuity,_ True Magic _is the providence of a_ God _. Remember that True Magic obeys no laws but its own or that of the Root though I am sure if they do use any laws at all."_

 _That shut Harry up. The words of the entities he had faced in the afterlife (if that could be called as the afterlife) had mentioned about him being born with a True Magic. Could that mean…_

 _Albus frowned as he witnessed a change in Harry's countenance. "Is something troubling you?"_

" _No…" Harry stammered. "Please continue, Professor."_

 _Albus narrowed his eyes for a moment but returned to his explanation. "Achieving True Magic is considered an irrefutable crime against both humanity and the planet."_

" _Is that the reason why the Council wanted to kill me?" Harry asked shrewdly._

" _It is one of the reasons, Harry." Albus answered in a tone without inflection. "In this case, I am talking about the Root itself. Any magus who successfully forms an Akashic Gate is hunted by a '_ red shadow _'."_

" _A Red Shadow? What does that mean?" Harry questioned, knowing the headmaster had avoided answering his previous question in full. He would just repeat the question at a later date._

 _Albus shrugged. "Unfortunately, Harry, that is the limit of my knowledge on the subject. All of the information I possess are from ancient tomes held in secure vaults that none but those who have proven themselves may access."_

" _You haven't really answered my question, Professor." Harry said, consternation twisting his features. "You tell me True Magic is something Gods possess and is achieved through the Root, can perform amazing things and a dozen other pieces of knowledge that makes no sense to me. So far, you've told me what it can do. The instructions on trying to achieve one of them are so vague that they're practically useless. Does anybody even understand what path or Root or red shadow or Akashic Gate actually means?"_

 _Harry felt frustrated at the non-answers. "On one hand, you tell me magecraft can do many things except break the laws of nature and magic. On the other, you tell me I can achieve magic that can literally make me a God. How do I achieve the power of a God who can ignore the laws of reality by using magic that has no choice but to obey the same laws?"_

" _It has been far too long since I had a proper student, Harry." Albus chuckled. "You give an old man hope that students actually do employ their intellect to solve prolems." He plucked a lemon drop and popped the candy into his mouth. "There is a proverb that explains the conundrum: '_ If you know, you need only ask. If you need to ask, you will never know _'. Root, the red shadow, a unique path, Akashic Gate… These are names we have assigned to things we cannot even begin to quantify. Even the term_ True Magic _is a misnomer for it indicates that the magecraft employed by magus like me is a mere imitation, a fake passed for the original. Researchers employ such names to help them_ believe _they have understood phenomena they have no hope of classifying in their neatly drawn, cross-referenced, indexed and proven-to-be-true tables. I can no more tell you what the Root or an Akashic Gate really is any more than I can describe the shape of the galaxy we reside in. Any true researcher of magic will provide the same explanation as I just did for even they understand the phenomena we explore is beyond human ken."_

" _As for the path to achieve True Magic, I truly do not know for certain if the instructions I have provided are real or merely fairy dust designed to provide answers where none exist. You must understand, Harry. True Magic is the term we employ to describe Magic of the Gods for that is what a user of said magic is to the magical world. I cannot grant you knowledge I do not have." He ended his answer with a sigh._

 _Harry felt frustrated but knew pushing the matter would be for naught. "So… how do I find some real information about it?"_

 _Albus frowned. "Only a magus who possesses True Magic can give you the answers you need, I'm afraid." Searching his memory for the right answer, he said, "There are eight True Magics in the world and I can, without a doubt, say I know the identity of five. If the information you received from the entities is correct and you do wield a True Magic of your own, that brings the count to nine. My, that would bring the number of users I have met in my life to two." He preened. "I must be the first magus in centuries to achieve the feat, Harry, for meeting even a single user of True Magic is a rarity even for people who live beyond two centuries."_

 _Harry scrunched at the thought. "Professor, you said that only one person can have access to the… Akashic Gate. Does that mean True Magic is passed down through family lines?"_

 _Albus considered his answer. "From what little information was available to me and the rumours surrounding this entire branch of magic, I do believe it is possible for the user to pass on his True Magic to another though I do believe the magic transcends boundaries like blood. Personally, I have never known of any True Magic being passed down to a successor except in the case of the Hallows, the Peverell artefacts containing one True Magic each."_

" _Professor, were you not the Chief Warlock of Britain_ and _the_ Supreme Mugwump _of the ICW?" Harry asked tersely. "You must have seen, read or heard of something beyond vague, non-explanative answers and rumours."_

 _Albus chortled. "Harry, you will soon realise that the world you see is merely a mask, a façade to hide the truth from the common magus. It is all a web of puppets and puppeteers._

 _My boy, very soon you will realise that the world as we know it is merely an illusion. There are strings within strings, puppeteers who are themselves puppets, masters who never realise they are, in turn, slaves to another. I doubt that even the hierarchy of power I have witnessed over the course of my life was nothing more than me scratching the surface of the answer."_

 _Harry frowned at the incredibly vague but unsettling answer. Filing away his questions on the matter, he asked, "Could you tell me the identities of the True Magic you know of, professor?"_

 _Albus popped another lemon drop into his mouth. "The three Peverell artefacts, namely the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility, are imbued with the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh True Magics. In order, they are Amplification, Illusion and Concealment, to the best of my knowledge."_

" _Fifth, sixth and seventh?" asked Harry._

" _In the order of their discovery." Albus clarified._

" _What about the ones before them?"_

 _A strange expression floated on the old man's face. "The Second Magic is possessed by one who is referred to as the Wizard Marshall by the Clock Tower, a magus known as the_ Kaleidoscope _."_

" _That's his name?"_ _Harry felt incredulous._

" _No, but that is the name he is popularly known by." Albus replied. "His true name is never mentioned lightly."_

 _Harry looked at the man with an odd expression. "From the way you talk about him, he seems to be a more dangerous and maniacal version of Tom. Is his name under a Taboo, professor?"_

 _Albus chuckled. "It could not be farther from the truth, Harry. No, it is not fear of his strength, knowledge or age that drives magi to avoid uttering his name at all costs. The nature of his True Magic makes a magus, who possesses knowledge of the Second Magic, uncomfortable._

 _Harry wondered if it was simply another excuse to fear a name. "And what is the nature of his magic?"_

 _Albus stared at Harry in silence for an entire minute before coming to a conclusion. Taking a deep breath, he muttered softly, "The Operation of Parallel Worlds."_

" _Parallel… Worlds?" Harry spoke in confusion, unable to wrap his mind around the concept._

" _He is a magus who, by his attainment of the Second Magic, the Operation of Parallel Worlds, has the ability to travel across different worlds and timelines." Albus spoke softly. "I can write down his name on a piece of parchment provided you never, ever speak the name aloud."_

 _Watching Harry nod in agreement, Albus tore a piece of parchment from his desk and wrote three words using a rainbow coloured quill._

 _Harry felt amusement at the strange colour of the quill Dumbledore utilised. He was more nostalgic than apprehensive about the headmaster's behaviour for he was reminded of Hagrid when Harry had first asked him about the Dark Lord everyone knew as Lord Voldemort._

 _Taking the parchment held out to him, Harry turned it around and stared at the three simple words on the parchment. This was the magus whose name even Albus Dumbledore feared to speak aloud. He wondered if the name was of German origin._

 _ **Kischur Zeltretch Schweinorg.**_

" _I'll say it again. Never utter that name aloud. It is highly possible that uttering his name aloud could literally act as a summons for the Kaleidoscope and, in turn, might disrupt reality as we know it." Dumbledore warned. "Because of his possession of his Second Magic, any world he takes an interest in is irrevocably changed."_

" _Providence of a God." Harry muttered to himself at the explanation. Turning towards the Headmaster, he questioned. "What about the First and Third?"_

" _The user of the First Magic is reported to have passed away a long time, Harry." Albus's countenance turned severe. "The user of the Third Magic still exists."_

 _Harry narrowed his eyes. His mind and heart were in complete agreement that he would not like the upcoming answer._

" _Nicholas Flamel." Albus spoke in grave tones._

 _Harry coughed. Hard. Drinking the glass of water given to him by the headmaster, he asked, "Nicholas… Flamel? As in, the creator of the Philosopher's Stone?"_

 _There was a gleam in the eyes of Albus as he nodded in affirmation. "Irrespective of what the legends say, I have it on good authority that the man - my former mentor – is over than fifteen hundred years old."_

 _Dumbledore stood up, as he walked towards the window. "Nicholas reached the Root, and discovered the True Magic of Constancy. The Magic changed him, his genetic constitution was altered to such a fundamental degree that he is unaffected by any curse, disease or aging. He is the philosopher's stone, Harry. An eternal juggernaut unaffected by the waves of time."_

" _He's immortal?" Harry asked in shock. There were few things that drove the point home better than knowing that the person who wants you dead was both indestructible and immortal._

" _Not quite." Albus replied. "I am sure he_ might _be susceptible to the Killing Curse, though it is equally possible he might have developed some kind of resistance to block the effects of said curse."_

" _But the killing curse is unblockable, unstoppable and works every single time on something with a brain." Harry returned stubbornly._

 _Albus's eyes twinkled in mirth. "There is a magus in this very room who has proven that statement wrong_ twice _in the past fifteen years."_

 _Harry flushed in embarrassment._

 _Albus continued his lecture. "While the majority of the magical governments agree that the Killing curse is exactly what you say it is, the International Guilds can possess knowledge on how to counter the curse though I confess, as a Battle-Transfiguration Master myself, I have yet to hear of a method that can block the killing curse beyond physical shields."_

 _Harry sighed in disappointment. Every time he believed he learned of a critical piece of knowledge, a dozen other questions appeared in response. There were days he wished Lady Luck would stay on his side for at least a year though it seemed Fate and Murphy's law were trying to make him suffer in any way they could. "So the Stone in my first year… it was a fake?" Harry asked, somewhat disappointed._

 _Albus sighed. "No, Harry. The Stone was the crystallised form of Nicholas's blood. It did possess the properties of extending one's life and/or healing terrible injuries though it did have certain limits. I had acquired the stone as a bait to trap Voldemort."_

" _But it was destroyed." Harry replied sullenly._

" _It certainly did not." Albus replied instantly. "Your altercation with Tom's wraith caused certain complications that brought you to the brink of Death. I had to use the entire stone to bring you back to full health. I admit that my true intention for acquiring in the stone in the first place was to ensure that if you were injured by Tom, I would be able to save your life."_

 _Harry narrowed his eyes in anger. "Did you set up the traps on the third floor corridor specifically for me?"_

 _Albus shook his head. "You misunderstand my intentions, Harry. When yourself, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley passed through the traps, they were not the challenges I designed. I asked the staff to place the traps matching their specialities while I cast dozens of protective enchantments and wards on them. Why do you think Tom Riddle, one of the smartest people to ever walk the halls of the school, took over a year to get past the protections that three first years got past on their first attempt? He needed the time to slowly remove the enchantments I placed while progressing towards his objective."_

 _Harry blinked in confusion. "Then why did you…"_

" _Why did I say I acquired the stone to heal you?" At the young man's nod, Albus said, "Because you and Voldemort were tied by the prophecy, Harry. I knew that Fate would conspire to pit you against each other no matter what I did. So, I sought to mitigate or help improve your chances in case you faced Tom in battle. Though, I must confess I never expected you and your friends to deduce the mystery of the corridor or try to reach the stone."_

 _Harry felt mortified at underestimating the headmaster. For the past four years, he had wondered why the traps in the third floor corridor during his first year were so simple. Plenty of sleepless nights were spent on the ridiculous series of coincidences that surrounded the completion of their obstacles._

 _Harry and his friends accidentally discovering the Cerberus, Hagrid unwittingly informing them of Fluffy and Flamel and the Cerberus's weakness to music, the devil's snare taught in their first year, the flying keys requiring a seeker's skill, the chess set which Ron excelled at, the logic puzzle solved by Hermione and the Mirror which tested Harry's resolve. If Harry was inclined towards conspiracies, he would say that Dumbledore had well and truly manipulated them into being guinea pigs in an experiment._

 _Looking straight at the headmaster, Harry asked, "Did you know Professor Quirrell was possessed by Tom?"_

" _My suspicions were confirmed two months before you faced him before the Mirror of Erised." Albus replied without hesitation._

 _Harry though over everything the headmaster had explained regarding the incident. Finally remembering a question he had never found a satisfactory answer to, he asked, "Professor, do you know the_ true reason _why I was able to burn Quirrell with my touch?" He had never believed that love of all things could have helped him defeat the greatest dark lord in history._

 _Albus sighed. "No, Harry. I do not. All the experts I consulted offered me plenty of hypotheticals and no solutions. Hundreds of ancient tomes and none contain a plausible theory or tale or even a rumour on how such a child could burn a victim of possession." He felt quite weary at the explanation. "Perhaps you will succeed where I failed, Harry, and the answer to the 'Mystery of the fire hands'." At Harry's deadpan stare, he looked sheepish. "I confess I have read a few muggle mystery novels in my time."_

 _Harry shook his head in exasperated fondness._

* * *

 **Back to the present…**

As the sky went from a pale to bright yellow, Harry mused on the rest of the conversation. At the conclusion of that discussion with Dumbledore, all he had learned was that True Magic was beyond anything he had ever witnessed and there was no guide book that would help him. Even asking another True Magic user was not an option for, according to Dumbledore, they rarely bothered to interfere with the world and Harry knew it would be a cold day in hell before he asked Nicholas Flamel for help.

"Will the magic present within me really help fight against Voldemort?" Harry wondered aloud, as the early morning breeze kissed his face lightly. According to Dumbledore, Projection was the ability to mimic all magecrafts with an ease that was considered to be terrifying by any magus learned in the lore for Projection could even mimic family magicks bound exclusively to a bloodline.

That was all the information Dumbledore possessed on the subject after which he suggested several exercises that might help Harry in gaining a better understanding of the ability. The deceased headmaster was adamant that Harry was using the ability without conscious thought and pointed to the patronus incident during Sirius's rescue as a major example. A few experiments on the part of Dumbledore with Harry as the test subject had revealed two important points about his ability. After learning of them, Harry had finally begun to drastically improve his learning curve though Dumbledore still believed it was nowhere near what Projection was truly capable of. He would have thrown up his hands in defeat if Dumbledore had not convinced him that his Projection would save his life though he had yet to see any true improvements that would allow him to take on Tom who had decades of experience with the magical arts.

 _Perhaps you're looking in the wrong place, or walking on the wrong path?_ His mind supplied unhelpfully.

Then there was his recent dream. It had been far too strange and he remembered the events with far too much clarity to dismiss it. Was Magic trying to give him a message? Or was it his ability, trying to communicate him?

Harry stretched his right arm, the breeze causing the hairs on his arm to stand up. With nary a thought, he materialised the Elder Wand and a subtle wave of power passed through him. _Amplification…_ He pondered the name granted to the True Magic supposedly present in the stick of wood in his hand.

Bringing it closer to his eyes, Harry scrutinised the wand. Carvings resembling elderberries ran the length of the wand as the grey-brown wood felt extremely cool to the touch. Other than the uncommon appearance, he could see no unique patterns on the wand, carvings of runes, esoteric symbols or anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing about the wand that screamed power yet people had murdered each other to obtain this artefact.

Harry was bothered by the observation for he had utilised the wand to practice magic and it felt intoxicating. Every time he used the wand to cast spells, he could feel the power rolling off the waves in waves. His spells now packed a punch they had previously lacked causing him a great deal of worry about accidentally killing someone by not paying attention to the power imbued into the spells he cast.

However, despite all the power displayed by the wand, there were long stretches of time where it felt no different from a random twig. He could still cast spells and feel the magic flowing through the wand but the wand itself felt dead. It was another mystery along with the eerie self-awareness displayed by the wand. Stroking the wand along the grip, he dematerialised the artefact and walked inside past the temperature control wards which bordered the door.

Stopping before the study desk, Harry opened the bottom drawer of the desk and withdrew a large velvety cloth from its depths. Smiling at the sight of his invisibility cloak, he sat down on the desk-chair and began stroking the cloth, a habit he had developed whenever his nightmares became too unbearable and he needed an anchor to ground him.

The True Magic of _Concealment_ … Harry wondered if magi were just that unimaginative. Remembering the prosaic names of the shops in Diagon or Knockturn Alley, he guessed it might be a quirk of the magical world.

His fingers caressed his cloak, the cloth feeling softer and, paradoxically stronger than anything he had ever felt. True Magic or not, his cloak had never failed him. No matter the situation, his family heirloom had always held true to its name and never his presence except to the Weasley twins who cheated by using the Marauder's Map. That was another question he needed answered as Dumbledore told him even the vaunted Magesight could not detect the cloak.

Staring at his cloak, Harry's mood turned pensive. Perhaps the magi who named the True Magic of his cloak were being wiser than he realised. He wondered if _Concealment_ encompassed the meaning of the word in its entirety and the cloak he held could hide him away from everything; From the dark lord vying for his blood, from the public wishing that he was the saviour they wanted, from his friends who wanted him to have all the answers and, most important of all, from all the pain and misery he no longer wished to feel. Shifting his gaze to the brightening sky outside the balcony, he wished that the cloak could hide him away from the world itself.

He never noticed the cloak emanate an ethereal glow.

* * *

 **DMLE Director's Office**

Every single nation part of the ICW possessed a Department of Mysteries, a department highly independent of the respective governments they were a part of and answered to the Alexandrian Archives, the research heart of The Clock Tower, the largest university for magic on the planet. Every DOM is led by a Director who acts as both the public face of the Department and is the representative of their respective ministries to the Alexandrian Archives.

As a consequence of the autonomy they enjoyed, there was little interaction between the DOM and the other departments of the Ministry except in cases of national crisis.

Today was one such day for the Director of the DOM of the British Ministry of Magic, Wilber Croaker, sat in the office of the Director of the DMLE.

"Bertie, I'll ask you again. Will you, or will you not, explain the discrepancy behind the events I have just spoken of?"

Wilbert's slightly wrinkled face held a blank unassuming look as he inwardly smirked at Amelia. "I assure you Amelia, I will give you answers as soon as you ask me a proper question."

Amelia bit back a sigh of frustration. "Pray tell, how did six teenagers – children who had yet to achieve their OWLs - and death eaters led by You-Know-Who break into the most secure department of the British Ministry in the middle of the night when I know security is at its highest?"

A shadow of emotion floated across Wilbert's face, but vanished before Amelia could register its meaning, causing her to mentally curse Wilbert's proficiency at Occlumency.

"The two groups infiltrated the DOM – again, the most secure department of the ministry – and then fought a pitched battle within said department, destroying the Hall of Prophecies and several rooms of unknown purpose before Dumbledore and You-Know-Who destroyed the atrium. Need I remind you that one of the teenagers involved in the battle was Harry Peverell, formerly of the House of Potter."

Wilbert smiled. "Ah yes, the Boy-Who-Lived. Fascinating individual, wouldn't you say?" He replied airily.

"That's not…" Amelia felt frustrated. The DOM was beyond her jurisdiction but the security of the department reflected on the Ministry and Wilbert's reticence in sharing information was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Wilbert," she replied finally, "You know extremely well that the present situation is beyond the usual arguments over security between the DMLE and the DOM."

"You remind me of it far too much for my mind to forget the matter, Amelia." Wilbert piped in.

Amelia ignored the taunt, and continued. "Then you must recognise that it will be beneficial for us to work together considering the current state of affairs."

"You mean the Dark Lord's return?" Wilbert put in, still nonchalant as ever. "You do realize that the situation you speak of, while sensitive to the British Ministry, is of almost no importance to the DOM." He ignored Amelia's glare. "We are researchers, Amelia, and are protected by the Alexandrian Archives and, by extension, The Clock Tower. As much as it hurts me to say this, I have yet to hear any proper reason to pool our resources with the DMLE."

Amelia's features hardened. "In that case, Wilbert Croaker, when the time arrives, know that the DMLE shall focus on securing the Ministry, irrespective of whether our measures hinder the effort of the Unspeakables. After all, the DMLE deals with security of the realm and we do have a Dark Lord on the loose."

Wilbert's lips thinned. "That sounds remarkably like blackmail, Amelia."

Amelia smirked. "Of course not, Wilbert. I am merely detailing the measures I shall take as part of my duties to Wizarding Britain. I doubt the Minister or the Wizengamot will begrudge me on doing my job."

The man stared hard at Amelia for a moment before he relaxed into his chair with a smirk. "Well then, I seem to have my work cut out for me, don't I?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Bertie's smirk deepened. "You wanted answers. I will answer what I can."

"I sense a _but_."

Wilbert grinned, much to her chagrin. "You always had excellent instincts, Amelia."

The DMLE Director ignored the compliment. "Enough with the jokes, Bertie. How was your department infiltrated?"

"Through the use of an obscure but useful artefact." Wilber answered promptly.

Amelia blinked at the answer. So used to the constant verbal jousting Wilbert usually engaged her in, the succinct but prompt answer had thrown her off and judging by the twitch of his lips, he had achieved the reaction he hoped for. Her eyebrow twitch became more pronounced.

Relaxing her posture and reigning in her emotions, she leaned forward, elbows on her desk and fingers entwined under her chin. "Can you give me the name of the artefact?"

Wilbert knew Amelia had no reason to hide her curiosity though the anger still blazed behind her eyes. "I am afraid that information is classified."

"Can you reveal the purpose of the artefact?" Amelia felt proud for not letting her annoyance seep through the words.

Wilbert maintained his insufferable smirk. "I can tell you it was designed to be a ward neutraliser."

Amelia's fingers tightened in suppressed anger. "If you cannot give me the truth, I suggest you do not lie to me, Wilbert."

Wilbert had a look of mock-disappointment. "I can't believe you would think I would lie on such important matters, Amelia."

"You would, Wilbert, especially if you wanted to send me a wild chase for non-existent clues. The last time I you did, my department spent three months searching for an invisible thief who did not exist."

"In that particular case, the DOM did not want the DMLE involved in any manner." Wilbert wanted Amelia to drop her line of questioning but he knew nothing but the truth would sway at the moment. He had offer enough to keep her sated but not so much information that she interferes in matters beyond her control. "Regardless, I have answered your question truthfully. A ward neutraliser disabled the protective measures on the DOM for the period of time it required six teenagers, a couple of death eaters and Dumbledore's Order to destroy most of our stock of prototypes."

Amelia pursed her lips. "Ward Neutralisers are brute force devices, Wilbert. They are used by common thieves or hunters who possess no knowledge of wardbreaking and are designed for low level ward scheme most commonly found on homes and basic civilian facilities. The only way those neutralisers can bring down wards is by either destroying the wards or the ward anchor and either action is known to cause cascade failure if not done properly."

"The wards on the DOM have not been damaged, disabled or otherwise tampered with. The DMLE's resident experts on wards tell me that, based on through analysis of the DOM after the battle, it appears that the wards have always been there. They tell me that the wards do not possess any signs of tampering, damage or repair. In fact, one could say that your department did not have a break-in at all. A ward neutraliser is incapable of what I just described, Wilbert."

Wilbert smiled. "Amelia," Her posture stiffened, "I once told you multiple orgasms in a _single session_ were possible and called you me a liar in the exact same tone. Did I not prove you were right?"

"This," Amelia spoke in a tone that sent her fiercest aurors running for the hills. Wilbert merely gave a lecherous smile, "discussion is not about sex, Wilbert."

Wilbert's smile deepened and the heat in his eyes rose. "Pity. It would certainly be a far more enjoyable conversation."

"Wilbert." The name was spoken with a growl worthy of a dragon.

Wilbert gave a moue of disappointment. "You really need to loosen up, Amelia. How about we skip lunch and go back to my place?"

"DOM. Neutraliser. NOW!"

Wilbert flinched at the volume. "I do miss those screams." Noticing the wand pointed at his face, he put his hands in the universal gesture for surrender. "Your knowledge on the subject of neutralisers is severely lacking, Amelia. I did not think you, of all people, would be ignorant on such matters especially considering the House of Bones is famous for producing Artificers."

Holstering her wand, Amelia returned her hand to its former position below her chin. "Enlighten me."

For the first time since the meeting began, Wilbert nodded in sympathy. "All I can tell you is that the artefact I speak of does exist and was responsible for neutralising nearly every single piece of protection we utilised. Wards, charms, enchantments, intent-driven constructs and more obscure defences were all rendered non-functional for close to sixteen hours, a period of time more than sufficient for You-Know-Who, his minions, Harry Peverell," he ignored Amelia's curious look, "and his friends and Dumbledore's Order to wreck our prototypes. Decades of research and hundreds of thousands of hours of effort destroyed by a bunch of incompetent fools who were too stupid to understand what they were searching for."

"If the wards were rendered _non-functional_ for _sixteen hours_ , what were the Unspeakables doing during that period? _Playing exploding snap!?_ "

Wilbert chuckled. "Eight of my colleagues were. Three of us were playing chess."

" _Wilbert!_ "

"You really must control that temper, Amelia. It is definitely not good for your health."

"Explain yourself, Wilbert."

Wilbert quirked an eyebrow at Amelia's stiff posture and the daggers flowing out of her eyes. "I believe you visited the DOM during the early days of your career as part of your duty as Director of the DMLE, yes?" Amelia responded in the affirmative. "I believe you had questions regarding the state of the rooms the papers refer to as," He rolled his eyes, " _Time_ chamber and _Death_ chamber."

"I believe," Amelia replied, "my questions were on the research apparatus that were not present within the rooms I was given a tour of. Even the room that held the much vaunted Veil of Death contained naught but the ancient construct."

"Congratulations, Amelia. You have yet to go senile." Wilbert clapped in response to Amelia's snarl. "Women. Always touchy about their age. I honestly don't understand why your sex puts up such a great fuss on a simple question." His smile widened at her suppressed scream of frustration. "All the rooms you visited save for the Hall of Prophecies and the Veil of Death, contain all of our failed prototypes and assorted junk that have no practical value."

Amelia pursed her lips. "Are you telling me the DOM stores their failed research projects just beyond the front door? Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"

Wilbert smiled. "It sure would, Amelia, if they simply stored the junk. You see, we at the DOM realise that there are many people who would love nothing better than to get their hands on our work. We understand that we cannot predict every single move one makes against us. So, we arrived on the idea of keeping our failed projects just beyond the doors leading further in to the department. All of the items, save for the prophecy orbs, destroyed during the battle were part of our defensive measures designed to attack intruders with extreme prejudice. Even if one managed to pluck the item of the shelf and walk, they would not cross ten feet before the item turned to dust. Our method ensures that we can use our failures in a constructive manner and any intruder who makes it past the front door is obliterated in a manner that leaves no trace."

Amelia closed her eyes and pinched her nose, wondering if Wilbert loved to induce a migraine every time they met. "Wilbert, do you understand how convoluted your plan sounds? Wards perform the same actions without having the added danger of having your prototypes stolen."

"I do." Wilbert replied without hesitation. "However, traps made of failed prototypes combined with wizarding spaces and redirecting portals have proved to be more effective than simply casting multiple wards. It was the artefact You-Know-Who relied on that turned our defences into useless pieces of magic."

Amelia sighed. "You indicated that the Veil of Death and the Hall of Prophecies are exceptions. May I know why?"

Wilbert shook his head in exasperation. "You really need to stop being so ignorant, Amelia." Ignoring Amelia's spluttered denials, he forged ahead. "The Veil of Death cannot be transported through any magical means of transport and cannot be transfigured, charmed, enchanted or otherwise tampered with. Any individual or group wishing to steal the Veil of Death must move the entire physical structure without magic. I certainly do not see You-Know-Who or the death eaters exerting that level of effort to gain a construct that responds to nothing and does not have a single practical use save for sending matter to places unknown."

"On the other hand, the Hall of Prophecies is freely accessible to the public. We simply do not advertise that fact. We used to extend our wards to protect the Hall of Prophecies but we removed the protection on the room after we received one too many requests from people who believed they were part of some great prophecy. At the moment, the prophecies are protected by a curse placed on the orbs. You-Know-Who must have believed the artefact would have allowed him to take the orb by force. Too bad he realised his mistake quickly. If he hadn't, you would have had a Dark Lord free Britain weeks ago."

"What would have happened if You-Know-Who had taken the prophecy orb?" Amelia asked in morbid curiosity, knowing far too well, at the moment, that Unpseakables were madmen who employed the most ridiculous defensive measures. One good thing that came of the explanation she received was that she finally understood how Arthur Weasley was found injured in the Hall during Christmas.

Wilbert scratched his chin with the air of a man thinking deeply over his words. "Pretty simple. If he had touched the orb and was determined to not be the origin, receiver or subject of the prophecy, the enchantments on the orb would have induced instant madness and inflicted a variant of maledictionem."

Amelia's gaze hardened. A _Maledictionem_ , also known as a blood curse, not only rendered cruel effects on a victim, but also affected the victim's progeny. It was a conscripted spell which meant any individual caught using it earned a spot in Azkaban without trial. The Unspeakables were extremely lucky the DOM was not subject to the restrictions that governed the spell repertoire of the wizarding public. She expertly smothered the horror welling within her and felt Arthur Weasley was very lucky for simply sustaining injuries instead of an accidental blood curse infliction and cursed Dumbledore colourfully for putting his people in unnecessary danger. "Wilbert, you have yet to answer my question."

Wilbert blinked in feigned surprise. "I believe I just did."

"No." Amelia wished to bang his head against the desk. "You gave a long winded explanation of how DOM defensive measures work without explaining why the Unspeakables were absent during the events."

"I really wish you were a daft moron most days, Amelia." Wilbert replied with a smile that caused Amelia's anger to rise. "The section of the DOM in which the Unspeakables work is a massive Wizarding Space located beyond a warded door. When the artefact brought down the DOM wards, it simultaneously trapped us Unspeakables within said Space. We spent sixteen hours trying to break through the trap only to escape when the artefact disappeared."

The more she learnt about the Department of Mysteries, the more Amelia realised she was torn between considering them idiots with no shred of logic or geniuses whose plans tended to resemble Albus Dumbledore on his best day and hoped to Merlin it was not the latter. "To summarise the events, an artefact – whose identity you are still hiding – disabled the wards of the DOM in a manner that has stumped the best ward experts in my department, trapped every single Unspeakable within a Wizarding Space built by the Department of Mysteries and then proceeded to close every single avenue of escape you had at your disposal including house elves. That sounds too good to be true, Wilbert."

"Your mistake, Amelia, is to assume that reality must match your expectations when it is known to regularly surprise even the most learned or wisest of us."

Amelia sighed. She really a migraine reliever and a calming draught once this meeting was finished. "Do you realise the implications of the existence of such an artefact?"

Wilbert cocked his head. "I don't see why that matters to you. It was used against the DOM and we fall under the jurisdiction of the Clock Tower more than the British Ministry of Magic."

Amelia scoffed at the words. "I know the DOM is known for taking care of any problems encountered by themselves but this is not an internal matter. An ordinary thief did not walk through your doors. You-Know-Who and his death eaters did along with the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends and the truth regarding the events was reported on by the Daily Prophet no matter how skewed the article was. We are at war, Wilbert, and you damn well know it."

"It is of no consequence to the DOM."

Amelia growled. "It might not matter to the DOM but it damn well matters to the British Ministry of Magic."

"Protecting the Ministry is does not fall under the purview of my department."

"It falls under mine." Amelia replied swiftly. "I need you to tell me everything you know about the artefact."

"Neither the artefact nor its creator are any concern of yours."

Under the desk, Amelia balled her right hand into a fist. "When an artefact brings down DOM quality wards without alerting a single soul, it damn well is my concern. Wilbert, I do not wish to play your game any further. What do you need?"

"Ah! A bribe!" Wilbert clapped, an amused smile tugging on his lips. "I did not realise you were running for Minister."

"Wilbert!"

Realising that Amelia was going to start throwing hexes, Wilbert quickly opened his mouth. "Alright, Amelia! If you want the information badly, I propose a trade."

"A trade?" Amelia spoke the words like they were a death sentence.

Yes. A trade." Wilbert looked at Amelia and scoffed. "I am not running a charity, Amelia. You wanted information. In return, I'm asking for a favour."

Amelia considered hexing the man before her. He would duck and roll and dodge and escape from the room but it would help her mood tremendously. She fingered her wand for a few moments, her mind furiously considering all possible angle before she deflated. "What do you want, Wilbert?"

Wilbert smiled. "I knew you would come around, Amelia. The favour I am requesting," He ignored her scoff, "is within your power as Director of the DMLE. I wish to interrogate the six teenagers who were the main factors that led to the destruction of my department."

Amelia's gaze narrowed. "Interrogation?"

"I am not going to employ advanced torture techniques." Wilbert sounded like he was disappointed with her assumption. "Jeez! It's like you don't trust me." He ignored her confirmation of said statement. "I wish to talk to them. I promise I shall not employ any form of magical manipulation during the interrogation. You may even place a trusted auror in the room if you wish."

"Is this a bid to recruit Harry Peverell?"

"A sane individual would not tangle with a Peverell."

Amelia was puzzled by his response. "What do-"

"Let my department interrogate the six teenagers in the DMLE interview rooms and, if you need to reassure yourself, you may place an auror in the room to supervise. In return, I shall supply you with the name of the artefact's creator and a piece of information I believe would benefit you in your war against our resident Dark Lord."

"No extra catch, Wilbert?" Amelia felt quite sceptical on the matter. Dumbledore had blocked any attempt by the DMLE to interrogate the teenagers and no Ministry official, including her, wanted to overrule the man especially when he threatened to provide an exclusive interview to Rita Skeeter detailing the Ministry's dirty secrets that were better left to history records. Amelia had never felt as shocked as she did for Dumbledore had never been as direct as he did in that moment. It had effectively derailed her assessment of the man although it meant that her interrogation of the teenagers never came to pass.

Accepting Wilbert's offer would mean nothing except gaining the information she would have obtained in another week when she sent the summons. Making up her mind, she replied, "I accept your offer with the additional stipulation that my aurors shall be obtaining the transcripts of your interviews with the teenagers."

Wilbert seemed to consider the offer for a moment before he looked Amelia in the eye. "I accept. Schedule the interview as soon as possible, Amelia. Events in Britain have stalled for the moment but they shall be picking their pace soon enough." Standing up and turning around without so much as a greeting, he walked to the door.

He opened the door and stepped out and stopped. Considering his words, he half-turned and said, "Hey, Amelia?"

Amelia stiffened at the tone, hoping that Wilbert did not follow his usual habit of taunting her every time he stepped out of her office. "Yes, Wilbert?"

"I think it would be a very good use of your department's time and resources to keep an eye on your new History of Magic Professor."

Amelia's eyes hardened at the words. After Mast- _Majishanrodo Fernard_ – the man had insisted that he liked the title better - had introduced himself, Nathaniel Smith had spent the rest of the meeting glaring daggers, Carrow was torn between sneering and staring in interest, Tristan gave an appraising glance as always and Augusta looked one word away from falling in faint. She needed to understand why everybody she knew felt so apprehensive. "Why would it be a good idea, Wilbert?"

Wilbert's parting answer rang in her ears until she emptied several shots of firewhiskey and a calming draught to settle her nerves long enough to fully process the words and, promptly, groaned in frustration.

* * *

 **An unplottable manor**

Standing before the twin doors, Percy Weasley hesitated. He wished to walk away from the manor without a second thought but his body did not seem to obey his wishes. Every time the thought to walk away crossed his mind, his hidden Gryffindor roared that a Weasley did not shy away from confrontations, especially when it dealt with a Lord of an Ancient house and certainly not when said House was ennobled. Not for the first time Percy wondered if the House of Weasley had some innate instructions built into their blood to behave like foolish individuals when the situation stood against them.

Percy slid a finger over the right breast pocket of his coat to ensure the letter was real and not a figment of his imagination. The letter – an official invitation complete with House Crest and the personal stamp of the Lord – was delivered to his apartment three days ago. He had spent hours poring over the high quality parchment and passed a restless night of sleep before he, with great trepidation, sent a reply with the news that he had accepted. The passing hours between his reply being sent and his arrival at the large wooden doors before him was spent wracking his mind for any clues as to why a Lord of a Noble and Ancient House would want to talk with the third son of a House disgraced as blood traitors.

Staring at the wooden knockers at eye level, Percy wondered how they not disappear from sight as the colour and grain matched the door before realising that his eyes were drawn to them by a pull of magic on his person. Taking a deep breath and calling on the courage which placed him in the House of Lions, he rapped the knocker twice and was not surprised to hear a metallic tong.

One of the twin doors opened inward without a sound, revealing a large entrance hall with an ornate staircase and brightly lit by the late morning sun.

Percy frowned at the lack of a presence at the door before flinching in surprise at a voice greeting him at knee level and quickly shifted his gaze downwards.

A house elf dressed in a well maintained sunshine yellow toga embroidered with the House crest greeted him with a cool smile. "Welcome to the Ancestral Manor of my Lord, sir. Who may I say has arrived?"

Percy swallowed his anxiety. "Percival Gideon Weasley. I have an appointment with the Lord of the House."

"Please come in, Sir." The house elf gestured towards the entrance hall and Percy walked in with wary eyes passing over every single corner of the room and adjoining parlour, doors and hallways leading further into the large H-shaped manor.

"Your coat, sir." The house elf popped away with Percy's overcoat and reappeared two seconds later without the garment.

"Follow me, sir." The house elf who Percy guessed was female from her tone of voice led him through the hall to the connecting parlour and directed him towards the furniture seating surrounding a large glass coffee table. "Please take a seat, sir. I shall inform my Lord that you have arrived."

Occupying one of the armchairs, Percy took stock of his surroundings and relaxed minutely. Floor to ceiling windows allowed a wide view of the vast grounds surrounding the manor even as mosaics fairies, dragons, nymphs and other fantastic beasts drifted through the glass panels. Few of the nymphs and mermaids waved in his direction with a smile even a dragon belched blue flames which seemed to escape the glass into the real world.

The walls were painted a warm shade of green that resembled freshly cut grass. A large painting of a sailing ship – Percy surmised it resembled a fifteenth century merchant vessel – hung above the mantle of the fireplace and the light scones around the room resembled occamy with their wings in flight.

The thought of this meeting had both unnerved and exhilarated him for days though the pleasant atmosphere of the room did wonders for his state of mind which he guessed must have been the purpose of said decoration and style, a factor he never would have noticed if not for the Triwizard Tournament. Thanks to Crouch Senior's flouting of the rules to save his son and then being held under an imperius by said progeny, Percy had spent an entire year running the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Despite his extremely quick promotion as Personal Assistant to Crouch Senior and the rather rocky start of his diplomatic career, he had thrived due to his quick understanding of office politics and the extreme interference of certain Houses in matters of Britain's diplomatic relations with its European and ICW neighbours. The promotion to the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had only served to increase his knowledge of British politics and the traditions and rules one must follow and individual or groups one must patronise to increase one's stature – knowledge he had put to good use.

His biggest regret was that his family did not seem to understand the duties and responsibilities of an Ancient House. All of his efforts to restore the House of Weasley to a position of respect had alienated his family. His father in particular seemed to take his actions as insults and wanted Percy to return to a house mired in disrespect and swollen with self-importance. His family were fools for believing that a name did not matter. If only his father would abandon his ridiculous and incompetent curiosity of muggles…

"Ah, Mister Weasley."

Percy turned his head so fast that he felt the whiplash sharply. A second later, he noticed the source of his voice standing near the entrance of the parlour. The man appeared to be in his mid to late forties with reddish brown hair with light strands of white scattered around his scalp. Sharp blue eyes reminded Percy of a pristine lake he once visited. He was dressed in tasteful robes of fine quality with the style closer to muggle formal wear.

"Lord Greengrass." Percy stood immediately though he was quickly gestured to take his seat. "I thank you for inviting me into your home as a guest."

Tristan Greengrass smiled, a gesture Percy found to be quite disarming. "No, Mister Weasley. I was quite surprised yet honoured that you accepted my invitation." Walking over and occupying a seat on the main couch, he turned towards the young red haired youth. "I must confess I delayed announcing my arrival for I found you lost in thought."

Percy blushed. "No apologies necessary, Lord Greengrass. It is I who am sorry for not noticing your arrival."

Greengrass waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Quite alright, Mister Weasley. I tend to be lost in thought one too many times as well. My wife loves to make fun of my little habit." Relaxing in his seat, he asked, "I noticed you were staring at quite intensely at the sconces placed around the room."

Percy nodded with a minute shake of his head. "It was the unusual though elegant design, Lord Greengrass. I have never seen them before."

"My grandmother loved them. She believed the design would be a nice tribute to the creatures which are part." Then, with the air of a man who had seemingly forgotten an important matter, Greengrass said, "Dear me. I seem to have forgotten my manners. Kenny." He spoke aloud. "Tea and refreshments, please."

Percy watched as another house elf dressed in the same manner as the first elf appeared in the room and snapped its fingers. A silver kettle, glass cups, a cup of sugar and a rack of cupcakes of biscuits appeared on the coffee table before the elf – Kenny – gave a swift bow to Greengrass and popped away.

Greengrass gestured towards the kettle of warm tea and snacks. "Please help yourself."

Emulating Greengrass, Percy took a cup of warm tea with a cube of sugar.

A few moments of small talk passed between the men before Greengrass placed his cup on the table. "I am sure you are wondering about the reason for this social call."

Percy decided to assume his best poker face – an expression of confusion mixed with the look of an employee afraid of yet eager to please his superior. It had worked wonders with Ministry workers – especially Fudge and Umbridge – and allowed his meetings with foreign diplomats to work in his favour as they constantly underestimated him. "The thought did cross my mind."

Greengrass smiled and Percy knew the man had seen through his tactic. "As I am sure you know, the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass is in official alliance with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Selwyn, an alliance which does provide my House some clout in the Wizengamot."

 _Small clout indeed…_ Percy frowned inwardly. That alliance had ensured no House of the Light, or Progressive, Faction would ever ally themselves with the House of Greengrass due to the fickle nature of House Selwyn. Another important, though less stated, factor was the identity of the Heir Apparent. The current Lord Selwyn, an individual going by the name Bartholomew, has led the House for over three hundred years. Rumours of his vampiric nature aside, Lord Selwyn had so far refused to name a successor to House Selwyn, an action that pushed his numerous descendants into desperate actions to gain his favour. Percy's frequent international trips during the Triwizard fiasco and the subsequent transfer to the Minister's office ensured he had ears in many places and several of them whispered rumours of murders, assassination attempts, slanderous campaigns and a whole bag of unethical to downright illegal tricks employed by the various Heir _Presumptives_ to gain a higher footing on the ladder towards the Lordship.

Realising Greengrass was waiting for a response, Percy nodded. "I am aware of the _official_ alliances of which the Houses of Wizarding Britain are a part of, Lord Greengrass. House Selwyn is known for its odd-" He quickly clamped his mouth before he spouted the wrong words. "I apologise if I overstepped my boundaries."

"Unnecessary, Mister Weasley." Greengrass's smile was disarming. "It is refreshing to find one who can speak their mind. I would love to hear your opinion."

Percy was not sure if he had just been appreciated or insulted. Realising this might just be a test, he composed his expression and gave a minute nod. "The normal primogenitor customs of a House ensured the firstborn would be named as the successor, the Heir Apparent. In cases where a direct successor cannot be determined, usually in the cases of an entire main branch going extinct or killed, family magics are said to determine the Lord, or Heir Apparent if the successor is not of age, from the Cadet Houses otherwise known as Branch Families or Houses. The House of Selwyn is unique in that the current Lord is known to have outlived his children and whose great-grandchildren or great-great-grandchildren now compete for the role of successor. The situation is further complicated due to the presence of over a dozen families who hold as much claim as the direct descendants of the Lord due to situations I have no knowledge of."

"There are rumours floating around that you are the Regent of House Selwyn. Personally, I find it difficult to believe as your wife, Lady Greengrass, is the granddaughter of Lord Selwyn and, forgive me, is nowhere near the top of the ladder of succession. Her status makes your claim of regency far too… tenuous."

Greengrass chuckled. "You are right on several points, Mister Weasley. Though you need to broaden the scope of your knowledge as your ignorance shines." Ignoring the indignant and embarrassed blush on Percy, he continued. "It is true that my wife, the Lady Greengrass, is the grand-daughter of Lord Selwyn and due to reasons you will not understand, I am not eligible for the post of Regent irrespective of potential Heir Apparents. However, times have changed."

A moment of silence passed before Percy saw a proud smile rise on Greengrass's lips.

"You see, my eldest daughter, Daphne, celebrated her sixteenth birthday last week."

Percy noticed a curious expression on Greengrass but it was suppressed before he could get a read.

"My wife wished to make it a grand event and I, naturally, spared no expense. It was a small gathering of close family and friends who spent an enjoyable evening together. There was even an entertaining show where two of my friends, emboldened by far too much firewhiskey, began a duel that ended with their wives torturing them for the rest of the evening." He chuckled in remembrance.

Staring at Percy with a smile that deepened, Greengrass gestured to his house. "You see, near the end of the party, Lord Batholomew Selwyn visited my home to give his great-granddaughter a gift. He named Daphne Greengrass, Heiress of House Greengrass, the _Heir Apparent_ of House Selwyn whose right of succession now supersedes any potentials. My daughter now wears the Heir Primary ring with pride." _and caution._

Percy's eyes widened and finally understood the truth behind the rumours. "You're holding the regency for your daughter." He breathed.

"Indeed I am." Greengrass smiled and his expression turned predatory. "As you well know, the House of Selwyn does have… significant sway in the Wizengamot."

Percy knew that was the understatement of the century. Lucius Malfoy held the ear of the Minister and with his son's _possible_ claim to the Black seat, not to mention the status of House Malfoy amongst the Dark faction, made him a powerful political figure. He made the decisions for the Dark, or Traditional, faction and the rest followed.

That was the popular belief anyway.

Percy's time as the Minister's _lackey_ had revealed a different facet of the Wizengamot. He found that the Dark faction was actually comprised of two seperate groups; the former were an amalgamation of families who were active supporters of the Dark Lord, many members of the group were active death eaters. The latter faction, generally referred to as the _Dark neutrals_ , were people who cared for naught but themselves and the profit they would earn from the ventures they participated.

 _Capitalists…_ Percy inwardly sneered. This group was headed by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Selwyn, a formidable political entity whose stance on matters was never contested even by Lucius Malfoy who held great political power.

It was at that moment the full weight of the announcement hit Percy with the force of a _Bombarda_. While Tristan Greengrass held proxy for the House of Selwyn in Britain for the past thirty years as a result of his marriage to Annabelle Selwyn, his daughter's status as Heir Apparent meant Tristan Greengrass was the Regent for the entire House of Selwyn, a family whose political and economic clout stretched across Europe and Africa. House Greengrass was now one of the most powerful Houses in all of Europe.

"Congratulations, Lord Greengrass." Percy held with a fake smile. "I wish the very best of greetings for your daughter and Heiress, Daphne Annabelle Greengrass and I hope she continues to achieve greatness." His smile turned into a frown of confusion. "However, I'm yet to understand the cause of this… social call."

Greengrass chuckled. "You see, Mister Weasley, I care for neither the Pureblood Movement nor those who oppose them. While war generates excellent profits if one understands the right ventures to invest in, I understand what we face is nothing but a slow attrition of our culture, economy and nation. Such a situation does not generate any goodwill or profit for my House."

Percy nodded, trying to gauge the man.

Greengrass changed his track. "I am also very fond of patterns, Mister Weasley. Absolutely fascinated by them. I consider myself, all modesty aside, a savant of pattern recognition and deduction. The best patterns are observed when you notice people who break their routines and step out of their moulds."

Percy noticed the man pause for a moment before his voice took a nonchalance he knew was fake.

"For instance, there was an individual who was a model student during his days at school. Trusted by his teachers to be a stern disciplinarian and caretaker, he made prefect and later, Head Boy. Upon graduating, he received a _letter of recommendation_ from Albus Dumbledore himself and, through a series of unexpected events, quickly rose through the ranks until he became the closest aide to the Minister beside the Undersecretary herself."

Percy stayed silent.

"During his period of employment with the Ministry, the individual had several discrete rendezvous with Albus Dumbledore while working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. However, less than a week after the end of the Triwizard tournament, said individual developed a _public_ Anti-Dumbledore stance. Coincidentally, after another week had passed, he was offered the position of Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. That is interesting progression of events. Would you agree, Mr. Weasley?"

Percy's knuckles turned white from the balling of his fists.

Greengrass sent him a winning smile. "As I admitted, I am extremely fascinated by curious patterns, and this individual had broken the mould he lived in which, naturally, drew my eye. So, I went _sniffing_ around. Did I mention my animagus form is a canine?" He cracked up laughing.

"I'm sure you did not, Lord Greengrass." Percy replied, maintaining a neutral façade even as his fists whitened in a tight grip.

"I wished to why an individual who was purported to be a model student and a dutiful son would turn around and denounce his entire family and publicly take a stance against the very headmaster who provided him with a glowing recommendation while discretely passing information to said man right under the noses of the Minister and his Undersecretary, people who are not known for being merciful to traitors."

"My obsession with patterns – patterns the individual had broken in a brazen manner – drove me to find the truth. And what a truth it was."

Percy stiffened as Greengrass smiled in a manner reminiscent of a predator cornering its prey. He had seen that look plenty of times to recognise it. It was the same look that bint Dolores had every time she succeeded in her petty attempts at revenge against some unsuspecting citizen or Ministry employee.

"Few years ago – Three to be exact – the individual's school was under a cloud of danger. Rumours of monsters and secret chambers and a child, a twelve-year-old boy, who could speak the language of serpents ran rampant. Students were terrified out of their wits and began to turn their hatred on the child who merely had a gift he may or may not have received from a man who has been dead for nearly a millennium. Near the end of the year, an eleven-year-old haired girl in her first year was abducted and taken into the chamber everyone considered a myth. The child the student body had targeted in their irrational fear and who received no help from the staff found the chamber, killed the basilisk and saved the girl. Sounds like one a fairy tale, does it not? A lone hero shunned by the world and still does the _right thing_."

"I would not know, Lord Greengrass." Percy nearly snapped. "I do not read such fanciful tales. I fear they lead one to maintain an optimistic view of the world."

"True." Greengrass agreed easily. "Back to the story. The child saved the girl not for profit but for the simple fact that the girl was the sister of his oldest friend. Whether the boy was ignorant or simply do not care enough to notice, he had obtained a life debt from the girl and her family. Strangely, none of the family members ever made any overtures that would have paid the life debt nor did they seem to acknowledge one existed. None, save _one_."

Greengrass leaned into the couch and stretched his arms in a relaxed pose. "People consider Albus Dumbledore to be a man far too old and senile and forgiving to ever play games in the shadows. They consider him an old codger who should have keeled over and died a long time ago. What everyone, including the _great Houses of Britain_ ," He rolled his eyes, "forget is that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is the protégé of Nicholas Flamel and the man who brought Gellert Gindelwald's reign to an end. The Battle-Transfiguration Master our Ministry called a liar and a fraud for the past year was the same man You-Know-Who feared hesitated to face on the field of battle. The most important point in the information I found on Albus Dumbledore is he is insanely protective of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Percy paled.

"Dumbledore spent a great deal of political capital and sacrificed several of his friendships in the Ministry and the ICW to try and stop the Triwizard Tournament. Knowing he was destined to fail, he decided to place a spy in an optimal position of power to ensure he would know the details of the Tournament in advance. The individual I have been mentioning for the past half hour gained his recommendation from Dumbledore and in return, he would provide the headmaster with all the information regarding the Tournament. Once the Triwizard fiasco ended with the death of a student and the return of You-Know-Who, Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived became the targets of a slanderous campaign led by the Ministry. The individual gained the eye of the Minister after he turned his back on his beloved family and the headmaster who gave him the recommendation. Still, he continued to feed information to Dumbledore discreetly."

"You see, Mister Weasley, the actions confused me until I realised the young damsel in distress rescued by the Boy-Who-Lived was also the youngest sister of the individual. His stint at the Ministry gave me the final clue I needed." Greengrass crossed his arms over his chest. "Life debts are very old magic. Their existence has been known to magi since before Merlin transmuted the ley lines to invent apparition and portkey travel. Any House worth their blood see the honouring of life debts as a mark of great respect and pride. Tradition demands it and not even Houses of the darkest alignment ignore them. Only fools who are ignorant of the basic tenets of magic or are simply insane fail to acknowledge and fulfil them, namely the family whose daughter was saved. But the individual I speak of was singular within his family. I believe he acknowledged the life debt to Albus Dumbledore who was the Boy-Who-Lived's guardian and took every single measure to repay it. From all the reports I received, I understood the individual wished to restore the name of his House to a position of respect in Wizarding Britain, and fulfilling a life debt was a significant move in that direction for he was respecting our traditions."

Percy gritted his teeth so hard he swore several of them cracked.

"I admit, Mr. Weasley, my fascination with patterns drove me to uncover the truth. However, several pieces of the puzzle I presented to you have been mere assumptions. I do not like assumptions. They cause the wisest of us to fall. I called on you to clarify several points in the story I have just presented. So, Mister Weasley, did I make any mistakes?"

Percy suppressed a growl at the arrogance leaking through the man's tone. The man knew he was correct and was daring him to speak a lie. "Why are you doing this?"

Greengrass wore a confused frown. "I am not doing anything, Mister Weasley. Although, I admit I was possessed by an idea to share the information with… _individuals_ of a _particular disposition_ but I realised such an action would be detrimental to the health of those closest to you and it has been a long time since a matter of interest caught my eye.

"That sounds remarkably like blackmail." Percy countered.

"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Weasley."

Percy weighed his chances. There was nothing he could do at the moment. With Albus Dumbledore dead, he was fair game to the sharks, and it seemed like he had attracted the attention of the most ruthless.

He took a deep breath and braced himself. "Harry Potter saved my sister's life from the Chamber of Secrets, in early 1993. As a scion of the Ancient House of Weasley, I felt… motivated to acknowledge the debt to the last scion of the Ancient House of Potter though I may as well call it the Most Ancient House of Peverell after Harry took up the Lordship. What I find strange is that none of the documents relating to Harry Peverell, previously Potter, call him a Lord. Even the documents submitted by the goblins call him _Mister_ Harry Peverell. It's like none wish to acknowledge his status as the Lord of a Most Ancient House."

Greengrass stayed silent.

Percy coughed. "Forgive me for digressing. In my seventh year, Albus Dumbledore, former magical guardian of Harry Peverell, offered me a proposal. He would give me a letter of recommendation that would allow me to obtain a high ranking position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, as the personal secretary of his old friend Bartemious Crouch Senior. In return, I would have to supply him with information he requested from time to time."

"What kind of information?" Greengrass prodded sharply.

Percy hesitated. "I really couldn't say."

"Noted." Greengrass frowned. "Please continue."

Percy sighed. "After the Dark Lord returned, Professor Dumbledore feared that Minister Fudge would not be… amenable to his suggestions, and, with the presence of Malfoy and his ilk, turn antagonistic."

"Which he did." Greengrass added.

"He advised me…" Percy looked away, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "to get into a public… brawl with my own family. As they were fierce supporters of Dumbledore, I would be brought to Fudge's attention as the son who put his loyalty to the Ministry first. It worked in our favour, and Minister Fudge took appointed me as his Junior Undersecretary."

"Interesting, very interesting." Greengrass muttered, drumming his fingers over the arm-rest of the couch. "It is fascinating though that Dumbledore allowed that pompous arse to parade around like an overgrown hen when he had a man inside Fudge's camp."

"I do not like your insinuations, Lord Greengrass." Percy spoke with a stern voice. "The information Dumbledore requested of me was never directly related to the British Ministry."

"I see."

Percy did not comment.

Greengrass waited for a moment. When he did not receive any further response, he said, "Albus Dumbledore is dead. Minister Fudge is all but out the door if even he likes to pretend he still has power especially after he issued his last executive order to release several prisoners of Azkaban on account of _lack of evidence_. The DMLE is none too happy with the Minister's office at the moment and your relation with House Weasley or Dumbledore's friends are beyond broken due to the secretive nature of your work with the headmaster."

"Thank you for enlightening me on _my_ situation, Lord Greengrass. Please, give share your talent of stating the obvious." Percy ground out, cursing himself for his lack of composure.

"I admit… I'm interested as to what you are going to do now." Greengrass asked, ignoring Percy's outburst.

 _Jumping off a cliff seems like a reasonable option…_ Percy thought.

"Mister Weasley?"

Percy sighed. "What do you want from me, Lord Greengrass?"

Greengrass sent him a winning smile. "I would like to hire you."

"… Hire me?" Percy replied weakly.

"Yes," Greengrass nodded, taking a sip of his tea. "The f _ormality_ of hiring a new Minister for Magic is all that keeps Fudge in office. The Dark faction is supporting Pius Thicknesse as the next Ministerial candidate."

"He's a Dark Lord Sympathizer and holds proxy for the House of Dolohov." Percy replied automatically, finally beginning to realize the true significance of the meeting. "He transferred fifty-two thousand galleons to Minister Fudge's election fund last month, in return for… personal favours."

Greengrass beamed. "This is why I feel so fascinated by young individuals like you." He paused for a moment. "I understand Amelia Bones is going to nominate herself for Minister."

"She has some of the best chance of obtaining the Minister's seat." Percy mumbled. "Egalitarian. Head of DMLE, a war veteran and considered incorruptible by many yet it known to be flexible. She's the Regent of the Ancient House of Bones, a member of the Neutral faction."

"A fair estimation." Greengrass validated.

"The Light caucus support her. She is close to Augusta Longbottom, a powerful political heavyweight. With the Dark Lord back, the chances of an Auror rising to Minister rising are very good."

"Indeed. I find that fact to be more than mildly annoying."

Percy gaped in shock. "You want to become the next Minister of Magic!"

"Mr. Weasley," Greengras pursed his lips in disappointment. "I'm afraid you've only begun to scratch the surface of my ambitions."

"But… but… then what am I doing here?" Percy stammered. It was occurring to him that he was beginning to bite off more than he could chew.

"As I mentioned… I have a job offer for you. I know that you have access to the information Fudge has collected over these years. Please do not insult my intelligence by spluttering denials like a fool." Greengrass added the last statement in afterthought.

"You wish to have all that information?" Percy questioned.

Greengrass laughed. "Of course not, Mister Weasley. The House of Greengrass owns a multitude of businesses both at home and abroad. That does not include the assets of the House of Selwyn that extends all over Magical and mundane Europe and Africa. I do not have the time to keep track of such trivia."

"You can keep that information to yourself and provide me with the higher order information I need when you are called upon. When I am Minister, you shall obtain the post of Undersecretary and continue to do as you have always done. I shall even grant you and your family protection from the Dark Lord. In return, you will arrange a meeting with Harry Peverell."

Percy frowned. "I believe a simple letter to Harry would have sufficed, Lord Greengrass. Blackmail is overkill for such a trivial matter."

Tristan laughed. "Your sense of humour needs work, Mister Weasley. I do not want the Boy-Who-Lived meeting me as a random stranger. I need a situation in which Harry Peverell will agree to support my candidature, especially since I will be recommended by a young man who sacrificed his closest relations with his family to help Albus Dumbledore fight against the Ministry and You-Know-Who. I am sure you can engineer such a situation."

Percy could see the wheels turning in his mind. With the return of the Dark Lord, Harry Pott- Peverell was being hailed as the _Chosen One_ , or another new moniker the Prophet was spouting these days. Harry's support would go a long way, especially when the Selwyn name is involved. Although there was the matter of House Black…

"What about the House of Malfoy? For years, Lucius Malfoy was unable to claim the Heir ring due to the presence of Sirius Black. With the death of the man, Lord Malfoy is anticipating his son, Draco, shall become the Heir Primary of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The alliances the House commands would go a long way in combating the influence of House Greengrass and House Selwyn."

"Let me explain your mistake, Mister Weasley." Greengrass interrupted. "I have reason to believe that the Lordship of House Black will not fall to Draco Lucius Malfoy, but to Harry James Peverell."

Percy was confused. "You must be mistaken. While Harry Peverell is eligible to be Heir Black, he would be Heir Secondary. Draco Malfoy, through his mother Narcissa Malfoy, has the greater right to the Black Lordship."

"Draco Malfoy will not be eligible, Mister Weasley." Greengrass spoke with confidence. "That I can assure you of. Since we both _know_ Harry Potter will be the next Lord Black, am I right in believing you are joining me in my endeavour?"

Percy gaped at the sheer confidence displayed by the man. How could Lord Greengrass state the inheritance of House Black considering the last union between Houses Black and Greengrass was over four centuries? He was wrong in his assumption that Harry would be Heir Primary of the House of Black. He had studied the lineage of House Black when he learned his great-grandmother was a Black. He had traced the line of succession plenty of times and knew, _knew_ Draco Malfoy would be the next Lord Black.

There was no possible way for Harry to obtain the Black Lordship, not unless Draco Malfoy either gave up his claim – _fat chance of that happening_ – or something drastic needed to occur-

Percy's mind fell into a serene calm as his inner slytherin came to the fore. A calculative smile rose on his lips and he extended his hand towards Greengrass for a handshake of agreement. "Please, call me Percy."

* * *

 **Grimmauld Place**

In the early twelfth century, the Alexandrian Archives had funded an expedition to the south of the Nile, based on a confidential report about the hidden remains of the once-destroyed mythical library of ancient Alexandria. Sagittarius Black I had led the team, and after over three years of trial and error, they had finally figured out the location of the hidden treasure-trove of ancient knowledge. Unknown to the rest of his team, and bypassing the stringent oaths and protocols in a manner worthy of the best of Slytherins, Sagittarius had been able to duplicate a significant amount of said tomes and manuscripts, a treasure that after decades of continuous shifts and fake trails, had finally ended up in an old fortress that was once used by the Scandinavian magi of old. Arcturus Black II had turned the nigh impenetrable fortress into what later came to be known as the Black Ancestral Manor. It was only in early 1800's during the Lordship of Phineas Nigellus Black, upon acquiring Headmaster status at Hogwarts that a new Black Family Townhouse was built in central London. The fact that there were two ley-lines crisscrossing each other made Number 12 Grimmauld Place an ideal location, despite the complete muggle neighbourhood all around. That was how the hidden archives of the mythical library of Alexandria, coupled with additions and family magic created and discovered by the Black line over the centuries, amalgamated together to create the highly sought-after Black library.

The truth about less-than-spectacular origins of the Black library was something that was passed down from one Lord to another, in the form of a Fidelius secret preserved over the centuries. Even as it was, access to the library was something that was limited only to Purebloods of the Black line, which was the reason that even Lord Voldemort hadn't managed to gain access to it back then; a security measure that was unintentionally broken down by Sirius Black in early 1994, when he allowed Albus Dumbledore access to his family library and then later to Hermione Granger in 1995. That was how Hermione Granger found herself perusing a tome from the Alexandrian treasure, sometime translated during early 1500's.

"Find anything interesting, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from the tome she was perusing to find Fleur leaning on the jamb of the library door. She had yet to receive a proper answer as to why Fleur spent as little time in the library as possible considering the amount of research the girl tended to perform for her project.

"I found one of those translated texts again." Hermione bit her lip, perusing the handwritten tome with extreme reverence. The book must have been worth a fortune. "This time it's a bunch of loose parchments bundled together. Looks like only half of it is translated though. Found some runes I've never learned before though the book is mostly a list of arithmantic equations dealing with… blood. Yes, I've got a couple of pages but I've never even seen these geometric sequences before. Professor Vector, my Arithmancy professor, told us Non-linear regressions as applied to ward schema was a budding concept but this text appears to have advanced schemes and none of them are in my books."

"Show it to me." Fleur walked forward and quickly extended her hand to snatch the tome from Hermione but paused just before she touched it. She drew her wand and cast over a dozen charms before she was satisfied and grabbed the tome from a frazzled Hermione.

"You Know," Hermione started with a frown, "I was holding the book. If I could touch them, I'm sure others could too. You didn't need to cast those detection charms."

Fleur occupied the empty chair beside the Hogwarts student and began to peruse and flip through the pages rapidly. "If you think that a book is perfectly harmless after a paltry charm or two, you will not make it as an Artificer."

Hermione was miffed. "I was reading that."

Fleur ignored the girl in favour of perusing the tome.

"Fleur!" Hermione exclaimed. "I helped you find the book. Least you could is tell me that it's for."

"I wi-" Fleur drew in a sharp breath at the information present on the pages. "Merde!"

"What is it? Did you find something?" Hermione tried to look over Fleur's shoulder. She scanned her memory of the book, wondering what it could have possible contained to elicite such a sharp reaction.

"It is just as you said. This is a translated text." Fleur quickly flipped a few pages and turned the tome towards Hermione and pointed to the date on the corner with a manicured finger. "Look at the date. It precedes the fourteenth century. That means the original texts must be far older. Hermione, do you have any idea of the value this tome holds? Gringotts would kill to possess this."

"This…. This is exactly what I need to progress in my project." Fleur gushed. "While the material does seem to focus exclusively on blood wards, I can adapt the arithmancy into-"

"Take a breath, Fleur." Hermione giggled at her own statement, remembering the many times where Ron and Harry had told her same words in the exact tone of voice.

Fleur mock scowled but shivered as she felt the familiar oppressive feeling of the library wards around her. "Hermione do you not feel that?"

"Huh?" Hermione returned eloquently.

"Never mind." Fleur gestured dismissively. "Let's take the book back to my room."

"Why?" Hermione near whined. "We can always find more reference material right here."

"The atmosphere's better." Fleur tucked the book in her arms and stood up. "If you want me to keep my promise to you, I suggest you come with me."

Hermione scowled fiercely but at the reminder of their promise, she stood and followed Fleur as she stepped out of the library. "You better teach me those wards."

Fleur flipped her ponytail to her back. "I promised I would."

"Fleur, did you see Harry since you arrived?" Hermione asked after a few seconds of companionable silence as they walked up the stairs to the second floor.

"He is stuck inside his roost." Fleur muttered, her fingers tightening around the book.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You still haven't forgiven him?"

Fleur huffed. "It is not my fault Harry Potter is an imbecile to refuse help when it is offered. I graciously understood his mistake with the letters my sister and I sent him. I offered to help him because of both the life debt owed by my House and for saving my sister when I could not." Her lips thinned at the memory of her blabbering like a damnsel instead of jumping back in the water immediately. "Does he have any idea of the disrespect he displayed by refusing my help!?"

Hermione bit her lip to prevent any words. From what she read of them, Veela were, by nature, prone to extreme displays of emotion and Harry – the fool he was – had managed to thoroughly anger the one veela who lived less than three doors away. Fleur had explained the meeting in great detail to her and only the fact that Harry seemed to disappear for long stretches of time saved him from a severe tongue lashing from both herself and Fleur.

"Hermione?"

"Huh, what?" Hermione turned to stare at Fleur as the veela's voice broke her out of her thoughts.

Fleur's scowl darkly. "You weren't even listening, were you?"

Hermione raised her hands in surrender with an apologetic smile. She had developed a tentative friendship with the older girl over their shared love of charms and a proclivity to learn everything they could get their hands on. To Hermione, it was a breath of fresh air to have someone she could talk to on her intellectual level outside Hogwarts. "I told you. Harry's always been that way. It's who he is."

"Survivor's guilt. You had a name for it, did you not?" Fleur spoke softly. Hermione thought she could detect a twinge of sympathy. "Harry's ' _Saving-People-thing_ '."

"I am not sure why you're getting your knickers in a bunch over this." Hermione smiled in mischief, immediately putting Fleur on her guard. Just before she could open her mouth, a 'pop' had them spinning around – Fleur was faster – to find a house elf dressed in a neat skirt standing before them.

"Lizzy." Fleur felt apprehension at the grim look on her house elf. " _Qu-est-ce qui ne va pas?_ " ("What's wrong?")

Lizzy blubbered out the words. " _Garçon aux cheveux rouge blesse prés de floo._ _Harry Potter et Dobby sont avec lui_." (Red haired boy is injured near floo. Harry Potter and Dobby are with him.)

Hermione was already running after the first sentence had left Lizzy's lips. Fleur ran through a string of curses as she ran after the bushy haired girl, tome still in hand.

Fifteen seconds later, both girls made it into the parlour to find Harry kneeling by the fireplace with Dobby standing by his side.

Ron lay on the floor with a large gash visible on his chest and left arm. He was wheezing hard even as Harry was running his wand in quick jerky motions across her injuries.

"Ron, stop talking." Harry shouted at his friend even as he cast every healing spell he knew to stem the blood flow before his friend died from blood loss.

"Ron!" Hermione had immediately run forward to take a place beside Harry. Gripping Ron's left arm with her left hand, she drew her wand in haste and began casting the few spells she knew to knit flesh.

"Imbéciles." Fleur cursed. "Harry, Hermione. Move out of the way."

Both teens turned to glare at the veela but her firm tone no-nonsense tone of voice caused them both to quickly follow her instructions.

Taking a quick glance of Ron's slowly paling complexion, Fleur cast a set of charms that immediately slowed down the amount of blood flowing leaking from the wounds and seemed to put the ginger haired teen to sleep. Turning to Dobby, she spoke quickly. "When you take him to the hospital, tell the healers there are two charms on him. A Blood-clotter and a medical stasis. They will know what to do."

While the two teens were stunned at the words, Harry recovered faster and turned to yell at Dobby only for the house elf to grab Ron and quickly pop away.

Eyes wet from unshed tears, Hermione turned towards Fleur. "Will he be alright?"

Fleur took a deep breath to recover from the rush of adrenaline. "Once the healers get their hands on Ron, he will be fine. Harry here," She gestured to the emerald eyed teen who appeared to be wearing a blank mask. "was stitching the wounds extremely well. Good job, Harry."

Noticing the lack of response, Hermione and Fleur turned to Harry and found him sitting there, eyelids blinking in what appeared to be shock.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed at the teen to get his attention.

Harry jolted from the volume and turned towards Hermione before his eyes widened. "Fred and George's shop is under attack! We need to help them."

"What!?" Hermione screeched.

"They can't hold on too long." Harry stood up, went to the floo and prepared to throw in a fistful of floo powder when he realised he did not know the address of the shop. "Damn it! I should have asked for the address."

Fleur spoke up. "Let's just head to the Leaky Cauldron. Its eight o'clock. There will not be any foot traffic as all of the shops in Diagon Alley would have closed before sunset."

Following Fleur's instructions, Harry, Elder Wand in hand, immediately stood in the fireplace and threw down floo powder with a shout, "The Leaky Cauldron." and disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Fleur and Hermione quickly followed suit.

* * *

 **Diagon Alley**

Harry, Hermione and Fleur stumbled out of the wall that separated The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley to find a street so deserted and quiet that for a moment, Harry and Hermione wondered if they arrived in the wrong street.

"What happened here?" Hermione wondered aloud as Harry began casting wide area detection charms.

Fleur stood in a modified dueler's stance as she scanned the buildings and the surrounding rooftops. "After Dumbledore died, no shopkeeper is keeping their doors open beyond five o'clock. They don't even stay in the apartments above their shops either. Mister Ollivander has been following the same measures."

Harry pointed to a building located right at the intersection of a fork where Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was located. "I picked up a rather powerful and highly modified Notice-me-not and silencing wards around the place and I'm counting eighteen people in the area besides those living above the shops around us."

Hermione gripped her wand so tight pain lanced up her arm.

Fleur took a quick glance at the unique wand Harry held and cast her detection charms on the shop as well. "Harry's right. Looks like a set of Notice-me-not, silencing and illusion wards that ensure no one peeks in until their work is done." She refrained from complimenting on the work as it would serve to anger the two friends beside her.

"Can you do a disillusionment charm?" Harry asked Fleur who nodded instantly and cast the charm on herself.

Harry drew his invisibility cloak from his pocket and draped it over Hermione before casting a disillusionment charm on himself. Hermione opened her mouth to question how Harry had managed to learn such an advanced charm, but the reality of the situation forced her to reconsider.

"Follow me." Harry muttered with enough volume, as he and Fleur moved ahead, with Hermione following as quickly as she could, noticing the invisibility cloak seemed to stick to her like a second skin.

As the trio approached the Weasley's shop, a light pressure began to be exerted on their minds with a voice whispering that they needed to walk back in the direction they came from. Fleur shook off the feeling with some difficulty while Harry ignored it. Hermione nearly stopped before she felt Harry's hand grip her shoulder. She was shocked that Harry could locate her when she was wearing his invisibility cloak but chose to pepper him with questions later.

Stopping at the edge of the ward line, Harry whispered, "As soon as we pass this line, they will be alerted. Start casting and don't stop."

Fleur wanted to hit her head against the nearest wall. "Harry, there are eighteen people out there who could be death eaters. Even if we start casting simultaneously and rapidly, we are still heavily outnumbered."

"We don't have the time to keep thinking." Harry's tone was roaring with anger. "Let's move."

The trio – Fleur cursing under her breath - walked past the ward line and froze at the assault on their senses.

Their backs facing the trio, a dozen individuals clad in black robes and silver masks were facing the Weasley edifice and casting all kinds of destructive curses towards the construct of brick and mortar. Flames of pure magic were licking the still standing pieces of the building even as the bricks were transfigured into animals that assaulted the inside of the building. Taunts and scream of pain from within the building indicated the presence of death eaters and the twins.

Harry absorbed the information in a split second before a red haze filled with vision. Whipping his wand in a straight jab that quickly dispelled his disillusionment, his wand sang in joy as he snarled, " _Reducto_!"

When cast successfully, a Reducto – the basic version of a Confringo – was capable of light to moderate damage depending on the target. Depending on the power of the caster, the curse was capable of pushing an opponent anywhere from three to eight feet and torn internal organs.

The curse that rushed out of the Elder Wand was a bright white streak of light that struck a death eater above the hip. A split second later, his compatriots and the ground around him was covered in shredded skin, organs and bones as the everything above the hip of the target was no longer present.

"Kill them!" One of the grunts, who had managed to overcome the state of shock of seeing one of his compatriots explore, roared in rage.

Instantly, all the remaining death eaters waved their wands and yelled out exploding curses, bombarding hexes and cutting curses.

Fleur had dropped her disillusionment charm as she sent a quick succession of fireballs from her wand as she dodged and shielded against the curses heading towards her.

Still under her cloak, Hermione stuck out her wand tip from beneath the cloak and began casting a series of jinxes and hexes designed to soften the death eaters for Harry and Fleur to quickly take them down.

Casting a Protego to absorb the curses, Harry ducked and rolled to the side as rapid cast cutting curses and wide area exploding hexes that were far too powerful for his opponents to shield as some learnt to their dismay and immense pain. He ducked a pair of cutters and launched a series of quick stunners before he noticed the familiar green of the killing curses heading towards him. He had quickly ducked only to find the curse stopped by a conjured piece of stone that disintegrated from the impact.

Harry turned in surprise towards Fleur who continued to rapid cast curses, charms and hexes in a series of blindingly fast spell chains that kept the death eaters on their heels. He could see the gash across her left knee and realised that her left arm was broken judging by the way she held it close to her chest.

Enraged by the injuries, Harry – ignoring the bone breaker that passed an inch away from his face - called on his reserves and pumped in even more power into his spells causing the seven remaining death eaters to dodge as their shields were unable to withstand the assault.

Hermione, finding it increasingly difficult to keep the cloak on and fire spells, dropped the cloak as she fired two cutting hexes in quick succession at the two death eaters right in front of her and crouched to avoid the ribbon cutter that nearly took her head off. The bright pink colour of the spell reminded her of the curse Antonin Dolohov struck her with and the distraction cost her.

One of the masked grunts – enraged by the audacity of a boy defending against him – pointed his wand at Hermione and yelled, "Crucio."

It proved to be the last thing he ever did.

Watching his best friend under the Cruciatus sent Harry reeling back to his time in the Department of Mysteries. The Elder Wand feeding his rage and suppressing his occlumentic dampeners, Harry whipped his wand in a movement he had only practiced once before, ignoring the curses flying around him, emerald eyes glowing with power, and made a series of twirls, curves and jabs before pointing the legendary wand at the caster of Cruciatus and whispered with the softest of voices. "Hastam tenebrarum."

The spells of every single witch and wizard froze in mid air before they were drawn to the tip of the Elder Wand as it glowed in Eldritch energy. A second after they were absorbed, Fleur whipped her head to stare at Harry in shock. Before she could open her lips, the Elder Wand, glowing in a crackle of energy, sent a bolt of the blackest night towards the targeted death eater.

The moment the bolt struck the death eater, a crackle of black energy jumped to the next death eater and the next. It continued its journey until it connected all seven death eaters present on the street. In a move that surprised Fleur, the spell jumped inside the shop and she knew, mind growing numb with shock and horror, that the spell had targeted every single death eater in the area. Once connected through ribbons of pure force, the death eaters tried to run only for them to succumb to madness and a boiling, rushing, piercing, cutting pain before they imploded with such force that Fleur, Hermione and Harry were sent flying for thirty feet before they, quite painfully, landed on their arses.

The walls on the ground floor of the shop blew outwards with all the force of twenty bombarda curses as shelves, glass, items of unknown purpose, paper, wood and a whole host of materials along with a mass of blood, flesh and bone.

Fleur regained her breath faster than the others due to the cushioning charm she had cast on herself before the battle began and was extremely thankful she did so when she saw Harry and Hermione were both unconscious.

Casting the spell equivalent of a pepper-up potion on herself, Fleur stood up on shaky legs and slowly walked over to her friends even as she cast a medical stasis charm on both to prevent their injuries from exacerbating quickly. A moment later, she stopped to shake the spots her eyes were suddenly swimming in. She took another step and collapsed as she felt her stasis charms and the pepper-up spell she cast on herself fade far too quickly for it to be natural.

Before she could question the strange event, Fleur found herself quickly turned around to face a heart shaped face of violet eyes and green hair, filled with fear and calm. The dichotomy made her giggle even as the new arrival's lips moved and yet no sound reached her ears. Before she could ask why the new arrival was moving her lips silently, the new arrival sent a pulse of magic through Fleur and her conscious faded to black.

* * *

 **AUTHOR's NOTE:**

 **WILBERT CROAKER – JOHN BARROWMAN**

 **TRISTAN GREENGRASS – COLIN FIRTH**


	7. Chapter 6

**IMPORTANT NOTICE! IMPORTANT NOTICE!**

 **PLEASE READ!**

 **ALL THOSE READING CHAPTER 6 FOR THE FIRST TIME, FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS NOTE.**

 **All those reading Chapter 6 for the Second or nth time, please read the chapter again. Changes have been made and scenes have been added to provide a more cohesive picture. This is the last change the chapter shall receive. DON'T SKIP THE CHAPTER.**

 **The list of Changes are:**

 **1) Tonks berating Harry in St. Mungo's has been removed.**

 **2) Fleur, Hermione, Neville and Harry scene has received a significant revamp.**

 **3) DMLE Interrogation Sequences have been added**

 **4) Percy and Harry have a full-fledged conversation.**

 **The reason we made the changes is because we read through the reviews and realized we made significant mistakes in this particular chapter. We took your advice to heart and took action. I might not be what you want but we did our best. NO FLAMING OR HIDING BEHIND GUEST REVIEWS TO RANT.**

 **As for those wondering about the length of Transcendence, do not ask. But the events will spruce up within the next two chapters.**

* * *

 **June 4 1996**

"Harry James Potter!"

"Hermione…"

"Do you ever think?"

"I resent that!"

"Arry, please don't deny the truth."

"I'm not. Ouch. Stop it with the stinging hexes."

"I am going to keep hexing you until you learn that you are not the center of the universe."

"I know-"

"No, you don't, Harry."

"Ouch. Hey. Watch where you're pointing that wand!"

"The wand's pointed at the right place."

"Hermione!"

"Fleur, stop embarrassing me."

"But it's so much fun."

"If you need fun, take your wand and point it at this – this – this idiot."

"Guys! I said I was sorry."

"After you nearly blew up the Alley."

"I was trying to save our lives."

"By killing us all?"

"It's not your fault, Arry. Men have always been less intelligent than woman."

"For the last time, I didn't want to put us all in a hospital. Besides, I don't see why you're complaining."

"Arry, do you have any idea how revolting it is to where such drab and disgusting pieces of clothing?"

"Those are hospital gowns, not those fall dresses you guys keep wearing."

"Harry, we were in summer clothing. Honestly, you're just as bad as Ron."

"Oi! Harry's the insane guy! I'm the smart one."

"Really, Ron? What makes you so smart?"

"Unlike Harry, I didn't comment on girly clothing, did I?"

Twin feminine growls caused the boys to cringe.

"Girly…? Ron, are you a _five-year-old_?"

"Hermione, zis merely proves my theory zat girls are more intelligent."

"Please stop proving them right, Ron."

"Right? Mate, you need to get your head checked again. Looks like a piece or two might be loose."

"Boys! You're not in pre-school."

"What's pre-school?"

"Ron, mate, please look at their smiles and shut up."

Nymphadora removed her wand tip away from the door, ending the eavesdropping charm that allowed her to listen to the people on the other side of the silenced piece of wood with an amused smile.

The two aurors posted at the door of the DMLE ward traded glances and rolled their eyes together.

Auror one asked, "Honestly, Ny-Tonks, can you grow up?"

Nymphadora gave auror one a narrow eyed glance before shrugging. "Where's the fun in that?"

Ignoring the sighs from the two aurors standing guard, Nymphadora opened the door and walked in to find the owners of the four voices she was eavesdropping on sitting on their assigned beds in the wards and continuing their argument with even greater vehemence. Save Fleur, the trio of best friends seemed to have completely missed her entry even as she closed the door behind her.

"Harry." Hermione was glaring at the emerald-eyed boy. "You really need to drop this argument."

"You started it." Harry retorted.

Hermione harrumphed. "I do not need to hear this from the boy whose been wearing the same shirt for the past three days."

Fleur's eyes were swimming in mirth. "Hermione's right, Arry. Do you like living like a caveman?"

"What's a caveman?" Ron had never heard the term before.

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh.

Deciding she had heard enough, Nymphadora stepped forward with a shout. "Damn, guys." The three teenagers and Fleur turned towards her. "You really are dumb to argue fashion with a girl."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I did not start the argument."

"Denial, Arry?" Fleur smiled. "You really need to learn how to lie."

Nymphadora chuckled as she grabbed a nearby chair and placed it at the foot of their beds before occupying it. "I don't know about Harry's ability to lie, Fleur, but I sure as hell as he shouldn't be messing around with a wand."

"What's with the girls today?" Harry groaned. "Why is everybody after me?"

Ron smiled in pain as the potion soaked bandages on his chest rose and fell every breath. "Maybe it's because you nearly killed them?"

"Everyone's a critic." Harry grumbled though Nymphadora could hear the self-recrimination in his tone.

Hermione glared at Harry without any heat. "Someone needs to keep you in line, Harry."

Nymphadora wiggled her eyebrows. "Looks like there's a story there, Harry. Care to enlighten us?"

Ron propped himself up on his pillows even as he flinched with every movement. "Let's just say Harry has the worst possible luck you can imagine."

Harry's continued grumbling went ignored by the rest of the room.

Fleur sat up on her bed and dangled her legs over the side. "I'm bored, Tonks. When can we leave?"

Nymphadora gave a look of mock-shock. "You want to shag at three in the afternoon?" She suppressed her amused smile at the trio of teenagers looking like ripe tomatoes. "I know I'm awesome and all but there are kids aro-" She ducked to avoid the stinging hex cast by the Veela.

Fleur gave an exasperated smile. "Can't you ever be normal?"

Nymphadora shrugged. "Normal is seriously overrated."

Fleur gave a teasing smile. "I doubt you were ever sane, Tonks."

Nymphadora opened her mouth to refute the statement, closed it, mulled over his answer for a minute and then shrugged. "My dad says the same thing."

"Tonks." Harry called to the green haired girl in a questioning tone of voice. When she turned to him, he asked, a serious look in his eyes, "When I woke up, the healers told me you were holding onto an _item_ that belongs to me. Can I have it back?"

"Sure. That's half the reason I came here." Nymphadora drew a large shimmering cloak from a disproportionately small pocket of her ripped jeans and handed it over to Harry who received the cloak with a reverence Tonks found to be both nostalgic and rather creepy. "That is one sweet invisibility cloak you have there, Harry."

Holding the shimmering cloak over his lap, Harry smiled. "Thank for picking it up for me." Then frowned. "How did you know the cloak was mine?"

Nymphadora rolled her eyes. "I am an auror, Harry."

Shifting his glance to the auror, Harry gave her a suspicious look. "I never told you I had an invisibility cloak." He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. The thought of him nearly killing his friends had… He did not wish to have a repeat of last night. "Plus, the… _explosion_ last night would have thrown his wide. So, Tonks, how did you know the cloak belonged to me?"

Ron stared at Harry like he gained a second head while Hermione appeared shocked. "Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

Harry scowled at the question. "Of course, I'm alright. The healer said I was fine."

Hermione swallowed. "Because of the stupid question you just asked."

"What!?"

"Hermione's right, mate." Ron added. "You must be wonky. Anybody who sees that cloak of yours knows it's amazing. Normal invisibility cloaks don't look like that."

Hermione tilted her head. "How would you know what one looks like, Ron?"

"Before I came to Hogwarts, Dad would take us to his office to show us some of the stuff he confiscated. Said it was a good habit to learn about the nasty stuff to keep ourselves safe." Realizing there was an auror in the room, Ron froze and turned, slowly, to face Tonks. Eyes widening at the sight, he tried to take back his words. "I mean he showed us pictures. Nothing-"

"Relax, Ron." Nymphadora interrupted with a smile. "I don't really care about harmless rule breaking." _Sides, I'm sure the boss knows and she never had a complaint._ Turning to Harry, she smiled. "I thought you were supposed to be smart, lover boy. I know you have a cloak. Lupin talked about it. I only found one cloak in that street. Plus, that looks and feels way better than even the disillusionment charms Moody taught me. Ergo, I put two and two together and got four. It looks like an heirloom and I realized it was yours. Not a great deductive leap at all. You sure you're okay?"

Harry blinked at the question, recapped his thought process that led to his question and blushed. "Sorry, Tonks. Must be the meds."

"Whatever you say, varmint." Nymphadora shrugged. "Now for the other half of my reason to be here. Harry, Hermione and Ron, you've been issued formal summons by the DMLE."

Ron felt outraged. "We aren't death eaters." He quickly yelped as a stinging hex struck his left leg and flinched at the pain the movement caused him. He turned his head slightly and fumed at a Hermione who had her wand pointed at him. "What the hell, Hermione?"

"That," Hermione started in a tone that Nymphadora realized this was a common occurrence, "was for opening your mouth without thinking. They aren't arresting us, Ron. They just want to take a statement. It's standard procedure."

Before Ron could retort, Fleur asked, "Tonks, the summons are not about yesterday's battle, are they?"

Nymphadora had to give it to Fleur. That empath ability of hers was a boon in many cases and a serious downer in others. She pouted at her friend in disappointment. "You took away the surprise, Fleur."

Fleur narrowed her gaze. "No jokes, Tonks. Why would the DMLE not take a statement regarding yesterday's… events?"

 _Should I? The Boss might kill me or Mad-Eye would if I opened my mouth._ Nymphadora glanced at the people on the beds, taking notes of Ron's injuries, Hermione's slight tremors, Harry's hard gaze and Fleur's lightly scarred left hand. _Why not?_ Casting a privacy ward that surrounded them all, she said, "Nah. The Boss doesn't care about yesterday. She might not look like it but she does love it when a couple of death eaters get blown up. The summons are about the battle _all of us_ took part in. Except for you, Fleur."

Hermione wore a confused frown. "I thought Dumbledore must have taken care of it because nobody interviewed Ron and I after the… events at the DOM. Neville, Ginny and Luna told us the same thing."

"Who gave the summons?"

Nymphadora stared at Harry with raised eyebrows that quickly morphed into an approving smile even as Ron, Hermione and Fleur gave Harry appraising glances. "Looks like that brain of yours is back in shape, Harry. The DMLE issued the summons but the guys taking your statements will be the DOM."

"Why?" Harry's tone caused Ron and Hermione to put some distance between them and him. That tone usually preceded a massive explosion of emotions from their best friend.

Nymphadora put her hands up in the gesture for 'I have no idea'. "Haven't got a clue. But I suggest you keep up that paranoia, Harry. Mad-Eye would be proud."

Harry stared at Nymphadora causing Hermione and Ron to hold their wands in preparation to petrify Harry in case he lost himself in his anger. A few moments later, he sighed. "Are Luna, Ginny and Neville going to be there too?"

"Yep!"

Harry leaned back on his propped bed with a defeated sigh. "When?"

Nymphadora mused what part of the summons put that look on his face. Holding back her questions on the matter, she said, "Eleven o'clock on June Ninth. That's this Sunday, in case you geniuses got no clue."

Relaxed and yet quite confused about Harry not blowing up at what he might have perceived as Ministry injustice before Dumbledore died, Hermione swore to herself she would sit him down and have a talk as soon as possible. Facing Nymphadora, she asked, "Are we in trouble with the DOM?"

"Nope." Nymphadora popped the word. "They don't have the jurisdiction. All you guys have to do is show up at the Auror Office on the Ninth, talk to the guys and leave. You'll have aurors in the room with you in case you're worried about it."

"I think the aurors are going to worry me more than the spooks." Ron lamented with a wail causing Harry to smile.

"Spooks?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged with a flinch of pain from his still healing wounds. "That's what Dad calls them."

"If we are not in trouble and they don't have any _jurisdiction_ , why do they want to talk?" Harry's question was pointed.

"Maybe they just want to hear our side of the story?" Hermione suggested.

"More like they were idiots and are trying to cover their asses."

"Ron!"

"What? Six of us broke into that place and we're teenagers. From the way Dad talks about them, we shouldn't have even crossed the front door."

Fleur smiled at the statement. "He does have a point, Hermione."

"Do _not_ take his side, Fleur." Hermione chided. "His ego is already big enough."

"Hey!" Ron felt indignant but knew Hermione spoke her words as a simple joke.

"Besides, Ron," Hermione added, "There could have been other reasons they were unable to stop us."

"They were exploding snap?" Ron spoke with a mocking tilt.

Fleur, Tonks and Harry laughed.

"Ronald!" Hermione looked like she wanted to bash Ron over the head. Nevertheless, none of them missed the slight twitch of her lips.

"By the way, Tonks." Harry gazed at the metamorph. "How are Fred and George? The healers haven't told us anything."

Nymphadora smiled brightly. "Having a blast."

Ron groaned while the rest of them blinked.

"Having fun?" Hermione echoed uncertainly.

"Yep." Nymphadora popped the word. "Mostly some bruises and a laceration or two but when the building blew up, they were in their lab which had some… experimental products."

"Are they alright?" Ron was anxious about their fate. The banter had helped him keep the edge of his anxiety but it was slowly starting to creep in.

"They're so fine that I'm pretty sure one or two healers have half a mind to offer them an apprenticeship."

"Apprentice…ship?" Hermione echoed in a voice so full of disbelief that Fred and George might have been insulted or, more likely, teased her for wanting one herself.

Nymphadora nodded. "When their shop blew up, Fred and George survived thanks to staying in their potions lab which was heavily reinforced. The downside was that they drowned in several potions they were experimenting with. Lucky for them, they can still speak and are telling the docs everything they might need to cure them. The docs found their knowledge of potions and charms great enough they are prepared to give the offers in writing."

Ron smiled at the news. Only Fred and George could get themselves into such ridiculous situations. _Well, probably not just them._ The thought floated through his mind as he sent a glance towards his oldest friend.

Hermione shook her head. "Those two… Honestly, I wonder how they ever managed seven years in school."

Nymphadora watched as Harry released a long breath like he had been praying to whatever deity existed out there and his wish had just come true. A glance to the right revealed Fleur had been observing the reaction too. "Just be careful about throwing your weight around next time, Harry. I really don't want to visit the hospital."

"I doubt I will be throwing around _anything_ for a while, Tonks." Harry spoke in a defeated tone.

"It might happen faster than you think." Nymphadora drew a Daily Prophet from her wizard space pocket and threw it at Harry. "You guys made front page."

Harry picked up the newspaper and held the full front page spread before him allowing Hermione and Ron to take a glimpse. Fleur sat on Hermione's bed to take a better look.

The headline " **CHOSEN ONE AND FRIENDS DEFEAT DEATH EATERS IN MORTAL COMBAT"** was printed in extremely large font above the picture of a destroyed building and adjoining street with the Dark Mark hovering in the sky. The article on the next page seemed to scream at them all.

 **BRITAIN REELING FROM DEATH EATER ATTACKS**

 **HAVE OUR AURORS FAILED US?**

* * *

 **June 5, 1996.**

 _Muggles are weird._ It was the thought that constantly haunted Neville every time he walked through the streets of muggle London. The buildings were too tall, casting long shadows or obscuring most of the sunlight that could reach the ground. The people treading the streets always looked like they were on the verge of either the end of the world or some other apocalyptic event that he could never understand. The constant noise that buzzed from all corners ensured that by the time he returned to his home of Harfang's Lodge, he needed a Draught of Peace and a Migraine Reliever. Vehicles, metal carts that were powered by toxic resources, were a constant presence on the roads, spewing gases that Neville knew were a blight on the earth.

As part of his many, many lessons he received to become an excellent Lord of House Longbottom, Neville had dozens of lectures on the history, culture and lifestyle of muggles. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, he found that most of their greatest inventions or advancements seemed to be centered around or stemmed from wartime or in case of future conflicts.

In fact, Neville wondered for the nth time how any muggles were still living considering the number of conflicts they initiated every time their leaders gathered for a meeting or their version of a Dark Lord decided it was time to overthrow the government or enact some sinister agenda that would not be out of place in a trashy adventure novel. There were moments he mused if Gaia, the spirit of the Earth would simply choose to-

"Watch yourself."

A yank on Neville's left arm had him quickly moving away from the road and further onto the sidewalk, shattering away his line of thought.

"I really don't wish to attend a funeral, Neville."

Neville murmured an apology to the man accompanying him and kept his eyes on the sidewalk. He heard a slurp followed by a sigh.

"I think that cloud above you looks just like that potions professor of yours."

"Very funny." Neville did not wish to talk about anything right now but the man walking beside him had other ideas.

"Stop acting like a pedophile, Neville."

Neville stopped in shock at the comment. A second later, his head whipped around to stare at the man accompanying him. With his thigh length grey overcoat, white shirt, black trousers, oval framed glasses and leather shoes, the man was the picture of professionalism if not for the way he drank his beverage can in an eerie imitation of Seamus drunk with butterbeer.

"I am not a pedophile." Neville hissed the words in case any passersby overheard them. Though judging by the look some of the people on the street were giving him, it appeared to be a lot cause.

"You sure?" Matthias asked with a mock frown.

How he managed to speak with a mouth full of soft drink was a mystery Neville doubted he would ever solve. "Yes!" The word was hissed with all the vehemence he could muster.

"Hmm… Pity." Matthias tilted his head back and poured the last of his beverage can down his throat before throwing it into the nearest bin with an accurate backhand and took stock of his surroundings. "Keep moving." He began walking away from Neville knowing the teenager would keep up with him.

Neville blinked at the sudden change in topic but ran to catch up with the man. "What was that for?"

Matthias threw a glance at the teenager beside him even as he avoided a woman swinging her handbag wildly. "Needed to break you out of that weird introspective mood you enter every time we do this."

Neville looked away in annoyance and embarrassment. "You could have tried something else to get my attention." He knew his tone was petulant.

"Shock and awe work better." Matthias withdrew a beverage can from his overcoat, pushed the stay-on-tab and began drinking.

"You still could have picked something that-" Neville had turned around to look at the man and released a sigh at the sight of the beverage can. "You know you're addicted to those drinks, right?"

Matthias shook the can in response. "My wife keeps complaining about it."

"You do need to get rid of that habit of yours."

"And you need to start showing me you have a brain."

Neville set his jaw in an expression that Matthias recognized as his 'I-will-do-things-my-way-and-damn-everyone-else' look. "You've already lectured me on it."

"And you will not heed my advice."

Neville muttered under his breath.

Matthias glanced at the teenager. "Care to speak a little louder?"

Neville hissed in response.

"Do not take that tone with me, moron." Matthias's voice did not change in tone, pitch or timbre. "It's your fault for behaving the way you did and your grandmother's for actually encouraging the worst traits of a _Gryffindor_."

"You sound like Snape."

"Your potions professor is an arse of a human being who knows when to fight and when to back down. A skill that would be of great help to you the next time you think of running into a trap made by death eaters."

Neville glared at the man who was, in many ways, worse than his potions professor when it came to denigrating him, his House and the entirety of his lineage. "I'm not going to apologize for something I don't regret."

"Which I why your classes now cover strategic and lateral thinking, critical analysis and _common sense_."

Neville glared at Matthias and sped up his gait, a movement that was quickly and effortlessly matched by the man even as he vanished his empty beverage can without a thought. "You shouldn't be using magic like that in public. There could be cameras around."

Matthias airily shook his hand in dismissal. "The human mind is wonderful at explaining away such pesky things."

Neville stayed quiet for the remaining minutes of their journey before they arrived in front of the shabby run down department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. His nerves began acting up as they always did but an application of Occlumency quickly crushed the emotion before it could overwhelm him.

"When Mungo Bonham, Perseus Malfoy and Tiberius Scamander founded the hospital after the Dark Lord Ekrizdis destroyed Diagon Alley, I'm quite sure they expected to inspire confidence in anyone who sought the services here." Matthias commented. " _That,_ " He pointed a finger at the glass display, "inspires _dread_."

Neville contemplated if Matthias had always been such a prick and concluded that he was. Ignoring the man, he looked straight at the ugly female mannequin that served as the door knocker. "Hello. I'm here to-"

"Fuck the resident healers."

Neville whipped around to stare at Matthias in shock even as the mannequin gave a small nod. "What was that?"

"A simple trick I figured out." Matthias gave an appreciative smile to a brunette passing by him on the street and received a wink in return. "It works with the telephone box the Ministry uses as an entrance as well. I'm sure you know that."

Neville was flabbergasted at Matthias's unashamed leering even though he should have been long since inured. Four summers of instruction with the man, no matter how close they became, had not helped Neville in understanding the man's habit of unashamedly leering at other woman despite having a wife who, by his grandmother's account, was half his age and a beauty to boot.

Calling on his Occlumency to gain some control, Neville opened his mouth to try and explain to Matthias that he had a wife and leering at other woman was not a good or chivalrous thing to do – an explanation he repeated every other week – when Matthias simply walked into the glass display of the store and vanished.

Sighing and resolving to try and convince Matthias on his bilious attitude towards marriage later, Neville walked through the glass and stepped into the crowded reception room of the St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Neville looked around the room and found rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of _Witch Weekly,_ others sporting gruesome disfigurements, animal bites, stings, smatters of potion liquids and even some who just sat there staring blankly into space. He continued to look around until he finally noticed Matthias talking to a healer holding a clipboard.

Realizing the man had probably used a Notice-Me-Not, Neville tsk'ed in irritation. His tutor always did things like this and then refused to explain why he did them in the first place. He had asked his grandmother several times over the past four years why an individual on par with Snape was his summer tutor only to receive a glib answer before being dismissed from her presence. When he asked Matthias why the man was teaching him, he received the same glib answer.

It was maddening to be the bloke who was important to the plan and yet not know a scrap of said plan. In his more introspective moments, he considered if Harry ever had such feelings.

Before he could begin down that dangerous path of thinking, Neville noticed Matthias wave him over to the stairs leading to the upper floors. He quickly caught up to the man as an odd question floated through his mind. Two flights of stairs and a beverage can later, he gathered his courage to ask the question he wanted to. "Majishanrodo Fernard?"

"Hmm?" Matthias appeared to be lost in thought.

"Do you have any friends?"

Matthias began walking up the last flight of stairs to their destination. "Why the sudden interest in my life?"

Neville crushed his nervousness behind solid Occlumency techniques. "I was just wondering why you never talk about them. It's just you mention your wife six times a day and yet never mention a single friend. You only never talk about acquaintances."

"You've been more irritable and chatty today, Neville." Matthias appeared to have abruptly changed the subject. "Is it because my presence is destabilizing a ritual you normally perform alone?"

"Ritual?" Neville felt wary. Rituals were magic not taken lightly even by the most hardened of magus and were performed under the greatest of discipline.

"Your annual visit to your parents at the beginning of every summer break."

Something about the man's tone put Neville's thoughts off balance but before he could even begin to analyze them, they had passed into the SPELL DAMAGE corridor of the fourth floor and were standing in front of the open door leading into the Janus Thickey ward. To his surprise, there was a plaque he had never seen before – **MIND DAMAGE**.

"Did they build a new ward in the hospital?" Neville began to turn when Matthias held him by his left hand and dragged him into the ward.

"After a patient died in this ward because of a security breach, St. Mungo's restructured their security protocols… and changed some of the rooms around." _And you'd be surprised at how effectively money changes opinions if thrown the correct way._

Before Neville could question Matthias further, he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Heir Longbottom, you came in at the right moment." Neville looked down the ward towards the section cordoned off by a set of pale blue curtains - the space where he knew his parents were – and found Healer Dunbar walking towards him.

Remembering his etiquette, Neville hastily returned the greeting. "Healer Dunbar, it's been a while."

The middle-aged healer shook Neville's hand in a firm grip. "Have to say, I was not expecting your presence until the end of the week."

Neville tried to return the woman's genial smile. "I was anxious, sir… I hope I have not inconvenienced you."

"You never do." Unlike the other healers in the ward, Dunbar always had a genuine smile on her face. From time to time, Neville contemplated if the woman ran around with a constant cheering charm cast on herself. "In fact, it is a wonderful time. I had just completed my daily checkup on your parents."

"You did?" Realizing the redundancy of his question, Neville blushed but asked his next question without pause. "How are they?"

Dunbar smiled at Neville in that strange look crossed between sympathy and pity that only she could pull off. "Cognitive functions are repairing themselves at a steady pace. Your mother now recognizes four of the healers including myself and has started to draw in her sketchpad. The drawings are crude but long term observation shows a steady increase in fine motor skills. She's even managed to speak a few words on an irregular basis."

"Your father is displaying an unheard of increase in brain function. Reports by our resident mind healer indicate his mind is, in a manner of speaking, repairing itself. Dead neurons are regenerating like a hydra even as his conscious slowly awakens. At the current regimen we are maintaining, we estimate he should regain consciousness in about… ninety days."

Neville felt hope bloom in his chest and a fragile smile rise on his lips. "Does this mean…" He couldn't bring himself to speak the words for fear of asking the wrong question and extinguishing what little hope he gained. Fortunately for him, Dunbar seemed to understand his plight.

"While I doubt they will ever recover complete function, barring any future complications, I am quite sure your parents will return to you by Christmas."

Neville did not realize the bright smile that erupted on his face and not even the not-so-subtle warnings of Healer Dunbar failed to dampen his mood. He knew Dunbar was obligated to warn the families of patients lest they gain too much hope; that was not a problem for him at the moment. Even his grandmother had told him his parents would be home by Christmas and Augusta Longbottom never lied.

"Could you convince your grandmother to arrange a meeting between the St. Mungo's staff and your family healer? It was because of the instructions provided by your healer that we were able to create a successful treatment. Many of my colleagues, including myself, would like to thank the healer in person." Dunbar's smile was enthusiastic. "Many of the treatment techniques provided have helped many of our other patients in the wards."

"I'll pass on the message, Healer Dunbar. Can I see my parents now?" Neville's obvious enthusiasm seemed to deepen Dunbar's smile.

"Of course, Heir Longbottom. If you would follow m-" Dunbar froze for a moment as her smile turned uncertain. "I'm sorry for noticing your companion, Heir Longbottom. I must have been lost in thought."

"It was no issue, Healer Dunbar." Internally, Neville fumed at Matthias. The man used Notice-Me-Not charms far too liberally and drew far too much amusement from putting people off guard even if he did not show his amusement with outward signs. His grandmother's account of Matthias's introduction at Hogwarts was a matter that made Neville laugh his ass off even as he felt a shiver pass at the thought of Matthias in a room full of Hogwarts students. "This is-"

"Matthias Edvards Fernard, Healer Dunbar." Matthias extended his hand with a smile Neville knew Dunbar would recognize was fake.

True to Neville's thoughts, Dunbar shook hands with Matthias, a disturbed smile on her lips. "A… pleasure to meet you, Mister Fernard. I must say I am familiar with the Longbottom family and I am hard pressed to remember if I have ever seen you before."

Matthias waved the question away. "I'm simply a close acquaintance. Neville's grandmother asked me to escort him because of the Dark Lord running around at the moment."

Dunbar looked very uncomfortable as the air around her felt explicably cold.

"I am quite sure you have other cases to deal with, Healer. Why don't you go ahead and get started on them? Neville and I can find our way to the end of the ward."

Dunbar tried to object with a strained smile. "It is not a problem, Mist-"

"I insist." Matthias spoke so softly that Neville thought the Healer might have not have heard them at all. However, Dunbar seemed to have heard them perfectly as she hastily spoke a farewell and walked out of the ward as fast as was politely possible without the appearance of running.

As soon as Healer Dunbar was out the door, Neville rounded on his companion. "What the hell was that?" He rarely displayed his anger as he found nothing was ever achieved using it.

Matthias shrugged. "I don't like junkies."

Neville narrowed his eyes at the term. He did not think it was a polite word. "What does that even mean?"

"It means she's a drug addict. Probably some form of modified euphoria potion to keep herself happy while she works here, in the most depressing ward in the entire hospital."

"I've been coming here for years and so has my grandmother." Neville hissed. "Healer Dunbar has always been a professional."

Matthias's gaze made Neville feel like he was six inches tall and denser than lead. "Your _grandmother_ is the Regent of a Most Ancient House whose Lord is lying at the end of this room. You think your precious Healer Dunbar would want anyone to know about her dirty little habit?" He preempted Neville's next question. "No, I cannot report her because Wizarding Britain's concept of addictive drugs is outdated. Just go talk to your parents. I'll be lying on the bed next to that pile."

Neville glanced in direction of Matthias's pointed finger and found an empty bed next to a blanket pile. A blink focused his thoughts only to realize the mound was probably a patient who had covered himself head to toe in a large blanket.

Nodding in the affirmative to Matthias's question, Neville turned to the end of the ward and began walking, his feet picking up speed even as his mind emptied itself of all thoughts except those of his parents who he hoped would soon be laughing brightly.

Entering past the pale blue curtains, Neville found his father lying on the hospital bed with his eyes open and his mother drawing on her sketchpad. Both of them looked far healthier than they did during his last disastrous visit that nearly ended with him socking Ron for being an oblivious, insensitive git. His mother's skin had regained a great deal of color, her face looked much healthier and her hair fairer. His father was in a similar state of health.

"Mum!" Neville watched as his mother turned around and smile at the sight of him. He let himself get dragged by her onto the bed and into a hug that he felt would break his bones even as he could not stop grinning at the enthusiasm displayed by his mother.

The next two hours were filled with Neville sharing all abridged versions of his adventures over the past year and an extremely censored version of the battle in the Ministry, his father blinking in what Neville guessed was some kind of response to his words and his mother cuddling up to him and feeding him a selection of candy from the drawer next to her bed and showed him all her drawings.

Neville would have left at the end of two hours but his mother pulled on his arm until he stayed for another hour before he – _reluctantly_ \- extracted himself from her arms with promises of future visits and exited the curtained section of the wards with an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper in the pocket.

Neville knew he was grinning like a lunatic but did not care. His parents looked healthier, were more active and were far more responsive than he had seen in years. He was going to convince his grandmother to give him the name of the healer responsible for their recovery and was going to repay the person with everything he had at his disposal.

Making up his mind, Neville turned to find Matthias and faltered at the sight of the man manipulating a large globe of water with his bare hands. He watched as the man effortlessly and with nary a thought make the globe dance even as he changed the shape, creating all sorts of creatures and plants and racing them around the room.

The sight of Matthias _wandlessly_ manipulating water and thoughts of his cherry and unicorn hair wand dredged up the most painful memory of his tutoring under Matthias.

" _ **Maybe it's because you do not have an affinity for foci-based magic."**_

 _ **Neville felt flabbergasted by the answer which quickly turned into belligerence. "What do you mean I don't have an affin-"**_

" _ **Exactly that." Matthias spoke calmly from his seat on the couch in Neville's study inside Harfang's Lodge. "Not every magus is a Transfiguration savant, a prodigious Seeker or a Seer. Similarly, not everyone is suited to using a wand as their focus for magic."**_

" _ **But… could it just be that my wand is not suited to me?" Neville tried, grasping for any point that might not prove his fears to be true.**_

 _ **Matthias gave a hard glance towards Neville. "Regent Dowager Longbottom is many things, but an old crackpot ignorant of wand-lore she is not. While it is true that often… children are unsuited to the wands utilized by their parents, you do not fall under that category. I can personally vouch that your grandmother consulted with Garrick Ollivander, performed the necessary tests to check if your magic and the wand are in harmony, and then and only then placed that wand in your explosive fingers." He paused for a moment. "I believe she might have expected you to be inspired by holding onto your father's wand."**_

" _ **But… but I can hardly cast anything with this… stick." Neville looked at the wand in his hand skeptically, wishing that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.**_

" _ **Like I said, your magic must simply be unsuited towards a wand. Considering wands are the most efficient foci on the planet and are far less fickle at binding themselves to owners, I doubt other foci would work for you."**_

" _ **Well, I know people who cannot cast with a wand. They're called squibs." Neville retorted in belligerence.**_

 _ **Matthias simply gave an amused smile. "Observe." He snapped his fingers and Neville was gob smacked at the tiny ball of flame burning on the thumb of the right hand. He closed his fist to extinguish the ball of flame and opened it to reveal a fish made of water crawling around his hand. A moment later, he vanished the water based construct even as Neville continued to stare in awe. "Andros the Invincible could do what I just did. Would you call him a squib as well?"**_

" _ **Wandless magic?" Neville muttered, his eye all but flying out of their sockets. Wandless magic was extremely difficult to perform for all but the strongest of magus. His tutor must be on the same as Albus Dumbledore. "Can you duel Albus Dumbledore?" His eyes shined with excitement.**_

 _ **Matthias stared at Neville for a long time before he shook his head. "Hogwarts needs a serious overhaul. Look, Wandless magic can only be performed by strong magi is a myth. Nearly everyone can do it once their figure out the right trick that works for them. What Andros the Invincible possessed and I now do is simply an inborn ability to cast magic without the use of a focus."**_

" _ **There are plenty of magecraft that are studied all over the world and not all of them need a focus. We just need to find the one you're suited to."**_

After that announcement, Neville had been used a test dummy by Matthias for a variety of foci – staves, staffs, runic tattoos, rice paper, gems, beads and a whole host of other foci that Neville could scarcely remember. Suffice it to say, he had retained the use of his father's wand and was now utilizing his new cherry and unicorn hair wand without showing any improvement in his spellcasting.

Resigning himself to his situation and berating himself for feeling envious of his tutor when his parents would soon be with him, Neville approached Matthias who, upon noticing the teenager, vanished the water with a wrist flick.

"You need more time?"

Neville shook his head and opened his mouth to ask for a favor when his eyes landed on the bed beside Matthias. What was previously a pile of blankets was now a familiar looking mousy haired teenager with some kind of jagged scar on his left arm staring at Matthias with a look that Neville could not describe. It took him a few seconds to place the teenager but when his mind finally caught up his eyes, Neville stared in shock at finding the Gryffindor in the Janus Thickey ward.

The shout was loud enough to wake up Lockhart who lay three beds away. "COLIN!?"

* * *

 **June 7, 1996**

The fireplace at Longbottom Manor flared brightly with emerald flames as Harry Peverell fell out of the fireplace on his face. He bit back the instinctive "Damn it!" and moved to stand even as he felt someone tug his left arm.

"You don't need to make an entrance every time you step out of a Floo, Harry." Neville commented in a soft voice.

Harry was stunned for a moment at hearing Neville make a joke but recovered quickly. "I'm still trying to get the trick down. Apparition's easier."

Neville's eyebrows shot up. "You can apparate, Harry?"

"Dumbledore taught me." Harry stepped away from the Floo and stood beside Neville who, wisely, did not reply to that answer.

Looking at the still empty fireplace, Neville asked, "Isn't Hermione coming right behind you?"

"She is." Harry was looking around the large parlor – it was six times the size of its counterpart at Grimmauld – with sharp eyes. "But she will drop in after another… ten seconds. Apparently, Hermione believes I suck at magical travel. No idea where _that_ idea got into her head."

"Well, you did just fall on your face." Neville commented lightly.

Harry mock glared at Neville who returned the look with a small smile. "I just need to learn the trick."

"It's simple, Harry. The moment you know you've arrived, immediately step out with your dominant foot and quickly follow with your other leg." Neville continued to stare at the fireplace. "Practice a few times and you'll get it."

Harry began to wonder what was delaying the arrival of his friends. His mind began conjuring doomsday scenarios of another attack similar to the one three days ago. The time of day – late evening – was not helping matters. Luckily, his autonomous shields – _or was that dampeners_ – slammed down on his emotions causing his face to assume a blank façade for a moment. He had yet to get acclimatized to his own body working without his input. It was not a comfortable thought. "How many times did you have to practice to get it right, Neville?"

Neville frowned. "My tutor spent four days on training me to use the Floo service until I could smoothly step out of it without a hitch."

Harry was shocked at the number of days spent on what he assumed was a simple exercise. "Four days? Did you keep flooing to Diagon Alley or what?"

"Not really." A secretive smile rose on Neville's face. "Turns out, if you try to Floo to your own fireplace, you can step in and the network will spit you out after a second. Makes for good practice but, by Merlin, it's boring. I'm lucky I got it down in four days."

Harry blinked at Neville. He had honestly never seen Neville speak as much as he did at the moment, unless one counted being his partner in Herbology class. He opened his mouth to mention it but quickly snapped shut lest he discourage Neville with the words.

The fireplace roared with green flames as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace without a hitch in her step. "Hey, Neville."

"Hello, Hermione."

"What took you so long?" asked Harry.

"Girl stuff, Harry."

Harry cocked his head. "That's code for 'It's none of your business', isn't it?" It was not a question.

"Prat." Hermione smiled. "Why did you call us, Neville?"

"I-"

A second later, Fleur stepped out of the fireplace far more grace than either teenager making Hermione wonder if Fleur was not related to some kind of royalty.

Neville, on the other hand, was quite surprised but recovered quickly. "Heiress Delacour. Welcome to Harfang's Lodge, Ancestral Seat of the House of Longbottom." He extended his right hand.

Fleur's eyebrow rose in surprise but she schooled her expression and placed her right hand in Neville's which he kissed. "It is an honor to be invited into your home, Heir Longbottom."

Hermione blinked at the ceremony before her. "Was that necessary?"

Neville pursed his lips in irritation. "It's a traditional greeting."

Harry cut in before Hermione could start the twenty questions game she so loved. "Your letter said it was an urgent matter, Neville."

Neville suppressed his snort. "My owl certainly took her time to deliver her letter."

Harry muttered something about wards but the words were incomprehensible to the others.

"Ignore him, Neville." Hermione was staring at the parlor in appreciation. "What did you want to talk to us about?"

Neville glanced at Harry for a moment, then at Hermione who looked at him earnestly, and back at Harry. Swallowing, he replied, "Come with me."

Fleur frowned but held back her questions in favor of following the teenager while Harry and Hermione sent apprehensive glances towards each other and she knew what the other was thinking. _Neville looked scared._

Neville led the trio through the parlor, into the entrance hall and up the stairs towards the first floor.

Trying to defuse the tense atmosphere permeating the group, Hermione spoke the first words that came to mind. "Your manor looks really bright, Neville." She berated herself for what might have been thoughtless words but decided to plough on, hoping that she would not make things worse. Ever since the attack on Fred and George's shop, Harry had been far too tense and seemed ready to jump at the slightest sound while Fleur looked to be in a similar state of constant worry. "It looks like the French chateau I visited after second year."

"It's actually a mix of several styles, Hermione." Neville answered absently. "The manor's renovated every century and every Lord or Lady likes to add their personal touch to the manor. Gran says it's a family tradition."

Fleur gazed at the architecture with an approving eye. "House Longbottom has excellent taste, Heir Longbottom. The amalgamation of architecture styles is pleasing."

Neville felt self-conscious. "Thanks for the compliment… and you can me Neville. We don't need to stand on ceremony."

Fleur responded in kind. "You may call me Fleur, Neville."

Harry continued to wonder why Neville looked several kinds of tense and the genuine fear he did not mistake for anything else. Deciding to fish for information, he asked, "Did you get a summons from the DMLE, Neville?"

"Ah!" Neville looked like the thought had just occurred to him and was inwardly berating himself for it. "I did. Well, Gran received the letter and told me I had to attend an interview at the DMLE. Are you guys attending on the ninth too?"

"Yes." Harry considered if Neville knew more about the matter than he did. "You have any information about that, Neville?"

"Not really. Gran met Amelia Bones - She's the Director of the DMLE – and asked about it. Madame Bones told her it was simply an interview that was delayed because of other concerns…"

Neville finally stopped in front of a door on the first floor and turned to face the group behind him.

At that moment, Harry knew anybody looking at Neville would see that he was tense and scared, even for a normally oblivious guy like himself. "Neville, you're creeping me out and you still haven't told us why we're here."

Neville wanted to wring his hands but decided not to. His tutor had beat that habit out of him and it would not do to continue it. "Just before you go in there, Harry. I want you to know I found him at the hospital on Wednesday."

Harry gulped in anxiety. "Who is it, Neville?"

Neville, hesitantly, held open the door. "See for yourself, Harry."

The very first thing that Harry Peverell registered once he entered the room was an eleven-inch long piece of wood right between his eyes, and the identity of the person wielding said piece of wood in his trembling hands. For as long as Harry could remember, the teenager before him had always run around Hogwarts with a camera hanging from his neck, taking pictures of anything he could with an infectious grin in his lips alongside the extremely annoying greeting of "Hello Harry" whenever he had the opportunity to meet him.

"Colin." Harry breathed as he stared at the obsessive photographer even as he heard a sharp breath behind him. Colin's eyes were the only nothing stopping him from drawing his wand. They were filled with an inexplicable ra- No, this was not inexplicable. He recognized this. It was exactly how he felt after Sirius had…

"Why are _you_ here?" Colin snarled.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath at the look in the boy's eyes. It was exactly like the way Harry looked when she tried to interrogate him about his feelings on Cedric's death. She discreetly brought her wand out. Just in case.

Fleur could feel the emotions rolling off the boy in waves and had to clamp down on her Occlumency and restrict her empath abilities before the anger overwhelm her.

Seeing Harry stand there like a rock, Colin turned towards Neville who was far too composed for his liking. "Why is he here?" He screamed his lungs out.

"I called him here." Neville replied without any emotional inflection in his voice.

"What happened?" Harry asked, directing the question to Neville and immediately regretted his action as Colin seemed to have understood his intentions.

"I am right here, Potter." Colin sneered and Harry realized the expression was similar to Snape's during their final Occlumency lesson. "Ask me."

Fleur drew her wand and prepared herself to cast a shield or stunner as necessary.

"Colin…" Hermione began, but Colin cut her off.

"I paid the price for being around you, Potter. I saw my entire family butchered to pieces because of you. My mother's dead because of you. My father died because of you… Den- Dennis- Dennis had hi-"

Harry drew in a sharp breath. _Riddle's… He's targeting everyone around me. He-_

"Where were you?" Colin snarled, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. "Where was the great _Boy-Who-Lived_ when I needed him? WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THOSE- THOSE MONSTERS CAME FOR-" Colin's eye rolled up as he lost consciousness and his knees gave way.

Harry caught Colin before he could collapse to the ground. Hefting the boy up by his waist, he laid him down on the bed and covered him in a blanket as Fleur placed Colin's wand on the table beside the bed.

Harry stood there for a few minutes in silence as everyone in the room tried to digest what they had just witnessed. "What just happened?" He wanted to know why his voice felt so hoarse.

"Overpowered sleeping charm." Neville explained in a quiet tone. "The healer warned me that, under no circumstances, was I to let his anger get the better of him. It was one of the conditions I had to follow to take him home."

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked in a quieter tone of voice.

Neville turned green and was moments away from puking his guts out. Taking great pain to regain his control through Occlumency and breathing exercises, he turned and walked out of the room. "Follow me."

Hermione and Fleur dragged Harry away from the now sleeping Colin before he sunk himself into a quagmire of guilt.

With his guests on his heels, Neville walked over to the east wing of the manor and lead them into his study. Ignoring the mess of notebooks and parchment lying on the couch, he opened the top right drawer of his study desk and pulled out a large saucer of a stone basin etched with runes and filled with a silvery liquid.

"Is that… a pensieve?" Harry asked absently, his mind a million miles away.

Hermione spun towards him. "Where have you seen a pensieve before, Harry?"

"Dumbledore's office." Harry muttered.

"Harry's right." Neville confirmed as he let the pensieve float in the middle of the study at waist height. He began a small explanation on the device, knowing Hermione would appreciate it. "They are made only on request and costs a heavy galleon. Ancient and Most Ancient Houses are known to have one at the very least."

"My father has one in his office as well." Fleur confirmed, still clamping down on her emotions lest she transform. Her empath abilities were a double edged sword because sensing overwhelming emotions could influence her significantly. It was why Veela with extreme aptitude for the ability were trained by Mistresses in the Covens for years with heavy emphasis on the Mind Arts. While her aptitude for empath sensitivity did not rank such training, she could - occasionally - drown in emotion if someone around her allowed their emotions to overwhelm them. The boy – Colin – and Harry were not helping her emotional state at the moment.

"I…" Neville's green pallor returned with a vengeance. "I asked my tutor to help me get the memory of the event from Colin's mind."

"A private tutor, Neville?" Hermione asked and Harry felt his lips twitch slightly. Trust Hermione to focus on studies.

Neville swallowed his anxiety as Hermione appeared to have given him a question to compose himself. Whether she did it for that purpose or not, he was grateful still. "My grandmother hired a private tutor to teach me essential subjects that Hogwarts syllabus does not cover. He's been teaching me every summer since the end of first year."

Neville pointed towards the pensieve. "Colin was _more than eager_ to give that memory. I'm not sure if he did it because he could not speak about it or if he wanted to spread his pain." The three shivered at the latter. "All I know is you will understand why he blames Harry after he sees that. Just put your head in that liquid and it will take you to the memory."

"Just one warning before you enter. My instructor extracted every inch of the memory including the thoughts and emotions that went with them. You _will_ feel them in their _entirety_."

"I shall sit this one out." Fleur's words shock Harry and Hermione into staring at her with incredulity. She responds with a pained smile. "I am sorry but I cannot watch the memory without… _adverse_ effects." She cannot explain her problems at the moment. Not when Neville has clearly stated what will happen if one enters the pensieve. Harry and Hermione do not seem to understand the full weight of his words and it is not the time to enlighten them. As her father once told her, some things are better experienced than spoken.

Harry wants to rail against Fleur for- for- He is not sure why he wishes to rail against her but he does not like that she wishes to avoid the memory. Deciding that that talk would be better served later, he walks towards the pensieve and dunks his head into the silvery liquid.

A second later, Hermione, fuming because of Fleur's cowardice, repeats Harry's action to enter the memory.

 _ **June 5, 1996**_

 _Colin had just spent the past two hours trying his best to beat his brother at a pack of Exploding Snap and had failed miserably._

" _Give up, brother." Dennis was smiling like a loon for the same hours. "You're never going to beat me at this game."_

 _Colin wanted to wipe that smug look off his face but he could not bring himself to do it. Not when Dennis had been spending his days since Harry Potter and his friends revealed the truth: that the big bad Dark Lord was back._

 _Honestly, even though he had supported Harry for the past year, Colin had pleaded and hoped and wished to God that Harry and the Headmaster were simply hallucinating or were confounded or anything except that they were telling the truth._

 _Watching Dennis shuffle the cards for another game that Colin egged him into, he knew that his thoughts were a betrayal to Harry but he could not help it. He had seen how bad some students in his school could be to him simply because he told them he was from the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. How their responses varied from ignoring him to annoyance to being mean to him._

 _In many ways, Colin believed it was a gift that people considered him too stupid to understand the world. And they would be right in several cases. Sure, he ran around the school without any thoughts except for his camera and magic and friends and family. But he was not daft, and definitely was not blind._

 _In private, he laughed at all the people who called blind. The biggest thing people ignored when they made that statement was also the one that made him so infamous among them._

 _Photography was an art that you could only be good at if you were capable of observing things beyond what they looked like. Many of his photos were of moments he knew held a meaning greater than what the picture he took conveyed. It was why he preferred still photographs to the moving pictures that witches and wizards loved so much. A moving picture looked too much like a movie. Lots of action and little meaning. A still photo was so much more._

 _Plus, the still photos helped him to satisfy his friends in the muggle world without breaking rules that seemed so fragile that Colin wondered how the magical world managed to hide for so long._

 _Smiling at Dennis as a card exploded in his face, Colin knew he was not the same kid who had entered Hogwarts with the tact of a troll and quickly became one of Gryffindor's biggest chatterbox ranked right after Granger's rants and Patil and Brown's gossip sessions. When he had woken up from what everybody told him was a basilisk petrification, he was horrified when he came home to learn that his parents had no clue about what happened at school. It was the reason he kept a close eye on Dennis and convinced him to join Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff like he wanted to._

 _When his brother had first been bullied by a couple of snakes, Colin had complained to McGonagall and she proved to be as useless as his primary school teacher who did not care enough about his missing reels, books and photos that his classmates regularly misplaced. After McGonagall had dismissed their complaint because the snakes had friends who covered their asses, he had given up on teachers being of any possible help._

 _His last year at school happened to be the worst with that pink coat monster walking the halls it was her own personal kingdom. Subtly rubbing his hand where the words were hidden under foundation makeup he had borrowed from Lavender, he just hoped that their Dark Lord was far, far away and Harry would find a way to lead them out of this mess._

 _His mother's voice from the downstairs hall shook him out of his thoughts._

" _Colin! Dennis! Dinner's ready!"_

" _Coming, mum!" Colin shouted back as Dennis packed the cards and placed them in the drawer they had allocated for Hogwarts stuff._

 _Walking into the dining room, Colin gave his father a one-armed hug with a smile and sat down at the table. Feeling odd, he looked around the room and found nothing but his father and brother smiling in their shared banter even as their mom admonished them while serving up a freshly prepared roast chicken._

" _Hey dad!" Colin waited until his father gave him his full attention. "Wanna go play a match of cricket tomorrow evening? Me and Dennis are playing with the boys and they wanna know."_

" _Well…" His father rubbed his chin. "I can finish my work at the site soon… Tell you what, I'll be by the park by, say 5o'clock and have a nice pick up match."_

 _Colin smiled and had his lights knocked out by a red flash._

 _When he woke up with an aching headache, Colin tried to move only to feel like he was stuck inside ice. A few seconds into his –_ futile _– struggle, the haze over his eyes lifted and he was staring at the middle of his living room, the photos hanging over the wall opposite to his position on the floor and the bodies of his family lying a couple of feet away from him._

 _Colin tried to scream for help with everything he had but his lips did not part nor did so much as a breath of a letter escape them. He tried to force his muscles to move and failed again. Tried to do anything but stay like a living statue on the floor and failed. He continued to push his body to obey his will when cold breath reminding him of a dementor rattled in his ear._

" _Terror…" Colin felt the word reverberate down his spine like the coldest of ice. "…tastes best when fresh, pretty little boy." He felt ice cold fingers stroking his cheek and his innards froze in absolute terror as men in dark robes and silver masks appeared around the room, seated on the couch and chairs in a lazy manner with their wands pointed at his family._

 _The fingers stroking his cheek stopped and the man behind him stepped over him and approached his parents and brother who were unmoving on the floor._

 _When the man turned to face him, Colin wanted to retch. Unlike the others, he only wore the robes without a mask but Colin really wished he had. The guy looked like the fleshy version of a freaking dementor._

 _The man smiled and Colin doubted he had ever seen an uglier face and that included Umbridge. The man levitated Dennis by his legs and moved him to the edge of his vision._

 _Keeping his brother floating in the air, Ugly turned around and woke up his parents with a wave of his wand. Colin immediately tried to scream as they looked shocked and afraid at the strange man in their home. His body refused to heed his call._

 _Colin watched as his father tried to run to Dennis only to crash against some invisible wall as his mother kept whipping her head around in fear, trying to keep all the strange and dangerous men in her sight._

 _Ugly sneered at his parents and cast a spell that broke his father's knee causing him to scream loudly. Colin continued to try and fight the spell that kept him still but nothing was working. He was hoping that some kind of accidental magic might break them like that one time when he was six. The spell did not give._

 _Ugly continued to sneer at his father. "Yar gonna be the evenin's entertainment. If you say no, your son gets this." He pointed his wand under Dennis's head and spoke some words did not understand._

 _A pillar of fire rose underneath Dennis's head and Ugly lowered his brother into the fire. His parents began beating at the invisible walls surrounding them I desperation as Colin tried to get free of his bonds. A distant part of his mind reminded him that his parents had yet to call for it but he dismissed it in favor of trying to save his brother._

 _Colin watched Dennis wake up as the flame flash burned his hair and a piece of the skin underneath and screamed out in agonizing pain even his as little brother tried and failed to move anything beyond the muscles in his face. He watched as Ugly waved his wand to silence his brother and levitate him away from the flames and turned to his parents with a smile that chilled Colin to the core._

" _Now, ya lot are going to beat each other!" Ugly ignored the warnings and pleas coming from Colin's parents. "I don't 'are 'ow ya do it. But un'ess ya want yar boy roasted like a troll, ya best get on with it."_

 _Colin had frozen in shock – the spell cast on him ensured that – as his parents stopped shouting and screaming and pleading and were looking at Ugly with a horror that he had never imagined seeing on their faces._

 _The next ten minutes proved to be the greatest horror of his life as Colin watched the masked men, after his parents begged them for mercy, cast some kind of spell and, forcibly, pour a colorless liquid down their throats that appeared to make his parents angry at each other. After that, his parents had gone at each other like the Blast Ended Skrewts he had handled in Hagrid's class. Fists were thrown, kicks were unleashed, and skins stretched and tore under nails. Colin watched in an almost detached horror as his father gouged out his mother's left eye with a roar while felt odd because his stomach and throat churned with bile that could not progress beyond the back of his throat._

 _Colin's mind screamed itself hoarse as his mother chewed off his father's right ear even as he kicked her to the ground and pounded her skull in. Part of her skull caved in, his mother swiped the feet from under his father and bashed his face in with both fists. Just before Colin thought they might stop hurting each other, one of the robed men threw a knife inside the invisible arena his parents fought within._

 _Colin watched his brother, screaming at his parents to stop for the past ten minutes, had lost his voice and was now pleading in whispers. He kept trying to move but the spell seemed it was far too hard to break._

" _Looks like your friend Potter isn't here to save you." A rough voice whispered in Colin's ear as he watched his parents break each other's teeth in their bid to take the knife. "Wonder why he spent a year running after our Lord and now hides like a coward while his friends and their parents suffer for his words."_

 _The man continued to whisper words into his ear as Colin tried to ignore him. His parents were his greater concern even as they broke each other's skin and fought over a knife like a pair of ancient enemies he had read about in the fairy tales his father hid from him._

" _Did you know Harry is living in a comfortable mansion while your parents are dying? I'm sure he's having a grand old dinner with his friends..."_

 _Colin wanted to scream that Harry did not know what was going on but his mind asked him if Harry was screaming about You-Know-Who and death eaters last year, why did he not know about the attack on his family._

 _His father had finally retrieved the knife from his mother's mangled hand and began stabbing her anywhere he could. Colin wanted to run and stop his father from hurting his mother but the spell refused to budge and the man whispering in his ear turned more malicious._

" _You could have avoided all of this, you know. All you had to do was stay away from lying, scheming Harry Potter who dragged people like you and your parents and your brother and your friends into HIS fight." His mother – blood pouring from her chest and throat – managed to wrangle the knife from his father and tore his stomach apart with a single slash and pulled his intestines out with her empty hand._

" _If you had simply stayed away from the fool, none of this would be happening. Your brother would have been playing exploding snap in your room." Colin felt his world slip away from his fingers. "Your mother would be gossiping with the neighbors next door and your poor father would be laughing at the dinner table and sharing new jokes about Kevin."_

 _Colin wanted to cry. He wanted to rage at the bastards and the Ugly around him. He wanted to kill them all and even his parents for hurting each other like monsters. He needed to sink his fingers into their eyes and tear them out. Most of all, he wanted to tear Harry Potter limb from bloody limb as his father tore his mother's jaw out with his bare hands._

" _Potter is a bad guy for dragging you against our Lord. He would have left you alone, you know. He would have left poor Colin Creevey all alone but you supported the liar and none of us want him in our midst."_

 _Colin watched as the robed men kill his parents with a shout of "Avada Kedavra" and two bright green spells that reminded him of Harry._

 _Ugly levitated his brother down and released him and Colin watched as Dennis crawled over to his parents and cried and bawled his eyes out._

 _The man behind Colin continued to whisper in Colin's ear as a wand touched his head. "This is what Potter does, Colin. He tears families apart. He causes pain to everyone around. He hurts those he cares for. Why, his godfather died because the Great Harry Potter wanted to be a hero."_

 _Colin watched his little brother bawl out his pain in big tears and hated that he was powerless to stop those tears and Harry for not being here to save him and his family like he promised._

 _Ugly leaned down next to Dennis, caught his brother by the chin and drew him up. "If ya want your ruddy brother to live, ya 'ave ten seconds to run outside."_

 _Colin tried to scream at Dennis to run away but his brother seemed oblivious to anything but Ugly's stare._

 _Ugly sneered at Dennis and Colin wanted Dennis to close his eyes. "If yar here en I start countin, I'll kill your brother as well. Ten."_

 _Colin tried to do anything he could to signal his brother to take the chance and run. He needed to Dennis to run. He needed somebody in his family to live._

 _When Ugly reached "SIX!", Dennis snapped out of his crying stupor, pushed the hand holding his chin away and ran to the door only to fall on his face when a tripping jinx – Colin recognized it from the DA and his thoughts darkened at the thought – landed on him._

" _THREE!" Ugly sneered at Dennis._

 _Still sobbing in pain, Dennis got up and ran the last few feet to the door._

 _Colin felt himself being adjusted to give him a proper view of his brother reaching the door. His heart soared in what little joy it could receive when Dennis put his hand on the door._

 _Just as Colin begged to God that his little brother would cross the door, Dennis froze on the spot._

" _ONE!" Ugly screamed like Gryffindor had won the House cup._

 _Colin desperately wished Dennis would run out the door and had not noticed something he should when the remainder of his sanity bled away. For once in his life, Colin absolutely wished he had never, ever had magic or learned of the magical world as he watched the frozen body of his little brother slip to the ground while his head slid off the neck with an ease that tore at Colin's mind._

" _Greet Harry Potter and tell all your friends that this is what will happen if anyone spreads lies about our Lord." The rough voice whispered in Colin's ear as he felt his pain build to a Crescendo that Colin doubted he would survive._

 _The last thought that went through Colin when he saw the red flash again was a simple line._ I hate you, Harry Potter!

Harry emerged from the pensieve, eyes glinting with sorrow and rage and hatred and emotions he doubted he could name even with a thousand years of experience and the roar of the ocean ringing in his ears. His hands were gripping the rim of the pensieve with so much strength that he pondered why the bones in his fingers had not already cracked.

Distantly, out of the corner of his eye, he registered Neville holding what looked like a conjured bucket with Fleur holding back Hermione's hair as she emptied the contents of her stomach and he felt an irrational level of anger course through his veins at the sight. How could Hermione receive help for simply being unable to withstand a mere memory when Colin received none as his family was butchered before his eyes? The mousy haired teenager with the too bright smile had struggled helplessly against his bonds and found no hand reaching out to help him. On the other hand, Hermione was being assisted by two of his acquaintances because she felt too queasy.

Harry violently turned away from the pensieve and strayed closer to the window as his emotions began to overwhelm him. Colin should not have suffered through that. HE and his family should have had a wonderful dinner followed by those activities families did when they loved each other. He and his brother should be exploding snap and his parents should have been watching them with a smile.

And it was all his fault. He knew Riddle would go after his friends and those close to him just for the sake of depriving him of joy. From the moment Dumbledore died, Harry understood he was fighting a war on both fronts and did nothing to prepare for it, save for running around like an idiot trying to find trinkets when his friends were in danger. Riddle's horcrux must have influenced him to the point that he was now blind to all concerns or did the ritual he aided Dumbledore in performing remove his ability to care for the friends. Was he falling into Dumbledore's mistake of noticing the forest for the trees?

Harry once thought he had known hatred beyond any of his classmates for he had lived in an abusive home for a decade. The moment he had learned of his heritage and of his parents' sacrifice to save his life, there was nothing – absolutely nothing in the world he hated more than the Dursleys. Not even the _great_ Dark Lord Voldemort who had personally killed his parents. Riddle had killed his parents and Harry would not rest until the monster was lying six feet under but the Dursleys were his greatest foes because they fed him lies for ten years and did not even have the decency to understand their mistakes.

A mirthless laugh bubbled out of him as Harry finally understood why Snape hated him. Much like Petunia who hated him because she was unable to possess the magic she claimed to hate and Vernon who despised anything that did not fit his standard of sanity, Snape hated Harry because of what he represented. When people claimed he looked just like his father – a claim Harry knew was not as true as everyone made it out to be – and was the reason Snape singled him out at every chance he got, they had barely scratched the surface.

Snape hated Harry because Harry was the son of Lily who was born as the seventh month died and was therefore the reason why Riddle killed the woman he loved. Harry was the mistake that should never have been born because Lily Evans would have lived and Snape could have tried to repair the friendship he had destroyed and Lily could have been a part of his life once again. Harry's similarity to James Potter gave a plausible reason that Snape knew others would buy and call him a petty bastard without ever once noticing his pain.

Harry could feel Colin's hatred churning through him and knew the boy- the teenager hated him a hundred times more than Snape did or ever could because, unlike his parents, Harry was well and truly responsible for their deaths.

After he had learned of existence of Riddle and his vengeance against all things Potter, Harry should have stayed away from everyone. He should have known better than to drag others into his fight when the Death Eater led Ministry had targeted him in a smear campaign. Instead, he encouraged them to follow him in his self-destructive tendencies and look what came out of that _brilliant_ move. Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Fleur ended up in the hospital, and Colin… Colin everyone closest to him. Colin was perfectly justified in ki-

Harry felt his head swing around so hard, he felt his neck almost snap. Nearly dazed from the pain in his neck and his cheek burn from the hard slap, he stared at the person who did the deed and snarled. "What was that for?"

"That," Fleur spoke in an eerily calm voice, her chest rising with every breath, "was for sinking into angsty teenager and not realizing that you were damaging the property of your friend."

"What's that supposed to mean, Fleur!?" Hermione scoffed, despite her pale countenance, her eyes angry at the female's unexpected attack on her best friend. She hadn't even realized, but she had had her wand nearly drawn.

Fleur appeared to follow one of the breathing exercises to control one's anger. Relaxing slightly, she stared at Harry with an ice cod gaze. "Have you lost your mind, Harry? You're leaking magic all over the floor. Control yourself!"

Harry wanted to shout at Fleur to shut up when he felt his right hand tighten around a thin stick of wood. Looking down, he narrowed his gaze at the Elder Wand - missing the curious glance Fleur cast at the ancient artefact – and felt shock at the tendril of influence the wand was exerting on his mind. Alarmed at not remembering the warnings presented by Dumbledore, Harry vanished the artefact and immediately felt the influence recede as his emotional dampeners slammed down with such force that, for a few fleeting seconds, he felt nothing.

Once he considered himself sufficiently recovered, Harry drew in the aura he was projecting and looked at his three people in the study to find them staring at him with worry and a hint of wariness.

"You alright now, Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone filled with worry.

Feeling his dampeners recede, Harry winced at letting his emotions and the Elder Wand getting the better off him. "I'm fine, Hermione."

"You are most definitely not." Fleur scoffed, before she turned away from him, walking away to stand beside Neville.

Harry glared at Fleur and found her relaxing by the second. A part of his mind wondered where all the anger went but was not motivated enough to truly bother. "I said I'm fine." He was irritated at her presumption.

"Harry," Hermione began, hoping that her best friend would not rage at her, "When you say 'fine', it means anything but. Don't deny it."

"Fine!" Harry retorted and observed Hermione's posture relax minutely. "But I don't speak about myself."

"You don't have to." Fleur stared at Harry with a knowing gaze. "It's plain as day for anyone to witness. You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry!" Harry shouted. "Those bastards killed Colin's family in front of him. Riddle and his band of bastards need to pay."

"Riddle?"

"It's the Dark Lord's real name." Hermione answered. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Head Boy of Hogwarts from 1944-45."

Fleur took a deep breath to calm herself and processed the information, making a mental note to send a letter to her father. "You are correct, Harry. They need to pay. But that is not what I am talking about."

"What-"

"Are you-?" Fleur interrupted the emerald eyed teenager in irritation. "You're not angry at the death eaters. You're angry at yourself! You hold yourself responsible for what happened to that boy and his family."

Harry balled his hands into fists. "Of course I'm responsible."

"No, Harry, you are not." Neville spoke with such conviction that Harry could almost believe him. "It was You-Know-Who and the death eaters. They and they only are responsible for everything that happened to Colin."

"Don't you get it!?" Harry wanted to shake Neville. "They went after Colin because of me!"

"Harry!" Hermione tasted bile. "They must have attacked Colin on the same day Fred and George were. Remember all those attacks on muggleborns we read in the newspaper."

"Hermione's right, mate!" Neville backed up her bushy haired girl. "Colin was attacked on that night. He was one of several-"

"That makes it alright, is it?" Harry scowled. "Colin was one of many and he doesn't matter. Are you stupid?"

"That's not what he said." Fleur retorted vehemently. "And stop trying to goad us into anger. It will not work."

A part of Harry couldn't help but notice the fact that it was Fleur _herself,_ who was the _angriest of the lot,_ and surprisingly, hadn't even seen the memory for herself, in the first place.

 _Wonder what makes her so angry._

"Harry, V- You-Know-Who was going to attack muggleborns. Sooner or later, he would have come after me and Colin and Justin and any of the muggle-born in Hogwarts."

"He didn't come after anyone, Hermione." Harry wanted to scream bloody murder at the entire lot, but his involuntary emotional dampeners seemed to pick that very moment to shut his impulses down.

 _Maybe you ain't looking at either._ His mind supplied. Harry ignored it. "He came after Colin because Colin supported me and was part of the DA and because he was close to me."

"You must have known that before last year. So why did you not push him away?"

Harry felt the breath knocked out of him. "Because- because he-"

"Let me tell you why." Fleur ignored Harry's stutters. "You did not push him or Ron or Hermione or any of your other friends away because you needed them and did not want to lose them."

"Fine!" Harry felt that he would hyperventilate. "I made a mistake. I let Colin stay with me and-"

"You really need to learn your history, Harry." Neville interrupted the Boy-Who-Lived. "During the last war, the death eaters attacked many Houses and not all of them were against him or were muggle-born."

Deciding that Neville had a good point, Hermione pressed the argument. "You've seen V- You-Know-Who, Harry. You fought him. DO you think that just because I stop being your friend now, he's going to leave me and mine alone?"

"Hermione, you saw what he did to Colin." Harry gestured towards the pensieve. "He'll do even worse to you."

Hermione went green.

"He attacked the Weasleys and the only reason Fred and George are in the hospital and not in a grave is because the death eaters who attacked them were incompetents. That's the only reason we survived that fight. What happens when we fight someone like Dolohov or Le- Rookwood?" He had avoided that particular trap though judging by Neville's narrowed eyes, he doubted the teenager had missed his slip. "I cannot be responsible for all of yo-"

"Then why do you hold yourself responsible for everything that happens?"

Harry felt his nails dig into his palms. "I do not!"

"You do, Harry." Hermione added. "If something bad happens and Riddle's is involved, it's always your fault. You can't be responsible for everything a madman does."

"You don't get it." Harry wanted to- to- "Argh! I can't protect all of you."

"You shouldn't have to!" Hermione screamed at her best friend. "We're your friends, Harry. We don't need you to protect us. We need you to let us _help you_."

"I don't need your help."

"Yes, you do." Hermione matched Harry in volume and vehemence. "You keep telling us that you're doing what Dumbledore asked you. How are you supposed to do that with OWL education?"

Harry tightened his hands into fists. "You have no idea what you're getting into. I'm trying to keep you away for your own damned safety."

Hermione looked like she just found the perfect argument. "Like Dumbledore did last year?"

Harry felt his breath hitch. "That-"

"Face it, Harry." Hermione knew this was her shot at taking down his defenses. "You were angry at Ron and I and everyone else for keeping things from you. Dumbledore barely gave you the light of day. You raged at us all for hiding things from you and now you do the same to us. How do you think we feel when you use those words?"

Harry felt the words hit him with the force of a Bombarda as his mind supplied memories of the summer prior to fifth year when everyone kept secrets from him for " _your own safety, Harry_ " and refused to trust him despite his role in the war. He wanted to share so that the burden on his shoulders would lesson but Dumbledore had warned him against sharing information as a secret shared was no secret at all.

 _And what did that lead him to?_ His mind supplied in Snape's voice. _A life of servitude to higher powers and facing denial and barricades at every turn._

Harry flinched at the voice but could not dispute the truth he had known for a while. Dumbledore had held his secrets so close to his chest that he had lost allies and support in many corners that the British Ministry and the ICW had begun to disregard him.

Neville gripped Harry's shoulders. "You have no right to keep us out of the war, Harry, nor can you made our decisions or opinions for us. It is not your job. Is You-Know-Who after your life? Yes. Will he attack your friends? Definitely. Would he kill them even if they were never close to you? You-Know-Who would because anyone willing to be your friend, Harry, is someone the death eaters will not suffer to live. That's without accounting for all the muggle-born and their parents who will be hunted. So, tell me, Harry, are you going to stop _us_ from fighting to protect our home?"

"That's very mature of you, Neville." Hermione smiled.

Neville blushed at the compliment. "Thanks." He looked Harry in the eye. "With Professor Dumbledore gone, it's not just the DA looking up to you. Most of the school is going to be looking to you for inspiration." He chuckled at a memory of his grandmother. "You should have heard Gran. She said, and I quote, _'Harry Potter has more backbone than half the Ministry put together._ '"

Hermione giggled at that. "Should've said that in front of Umbridge. I bet she'd blow a gasket."

"She would, any day." Neville defended. "Gran is not easily swayed by anyone. Even Lucius Malfoy keeps his distance."

"I did not know your grandmother was a politician, Neville." Hermione replied in surprise.

"Dowager Augusta Longbottom. Regent of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom." Neville spoke with pride. "She's also in the Board of Governors at Hogwarts."

"If your grandmother was on the Board of Governors, how did Umbridge manage to take control of Hogwarts?"

"Let's just say the politics in the past year managed to stall her significantly." Neville with replied with some hesitation. "My point, Harry, is that there are people who look up to you. You are their beacon now, especially since Professor Dumbledore is no longer around."

"Fat lot of good that did to him." Harry muttered, looking away. He alone knew who Albus Dumbledore was and what his life was truly like and doubted he would ever share that information with his friends.

Neville scowled. "My point is, we all look up to you, and you cannot just keep us at an arm's length. You are not a fairytale hero who can speak a few words and end the villain with a Deus Ex Machina. Anyone who expects that of you is deluding themselves. You know as well as I do you cannot win this war on your own. Let us help you."

"But-"

"Are you even listening, Harry?" Hermione shook her friend. "We _want_ to help you. Ron is asking Fred and George for lessons in magic because he wants to protect his family and friends, including you. Fleur is offering her expertise for that project you're keeping a secret from all of us. I want to help you, Harry. Even Neville does. But we cannot do that if you keep all the information to yourself and don't trust us."

Harry wanted to trust them. He did. He really, really did. But they did not know the extent of the threat on his life. None of them had a clue as to the kind of people going after his head. He did not want to be Dumbledore who held all the cards close to his chest. However, that meant sharing information with his friends that would put them in danger.

 _More danger!?_ His mind responded with incredulity. _Riddle's already hunting them. What more danger can they get in?_

 _But I can't share everything with them. The Flamels and everyone else on the Council would eat them alive._

 _Who said anything about sharing everything?_ His mind returned. _Just let them help you with the horcruxes and keep Flamel and everything else to yourself._

 _The horcruxes are dangerous!_

 _Really!?_ His mind oozed sarcasm. _Of course, they're dangerous, you idiot. But your friends can help you find them and dismantle the wards. You can keep the dirty jobs yourself. Sides, do you think Hermione or Ron would give up if you just said no? They'd do anything they can to know what you're doing – Hermione is smart enough – and interfere without realizing the danger._

 _But-_

 _Just let them help you to an extent. Hermione and Ron will keep you grounded, and with Fleur's offer of help, you can destroy the horcruxes faster. Which also means your friends will be far less danger. I know it's an oxymoron to involve your friends in danger to remove danger but they will be all the safer for it._

 _Still-_

 _Don't being a daft moron, Harry._ His mind screamed at him. _Just accept their help. Hide everything else and you'll be fine._

 _Who the hell are you to tell me how to live my life?_

 _Your conscience. We don't speak too often._

"I think…" Harry finally replied, ignoring the oddly wise and yet outrageous voice in his head, watching the hopeful looks on the three people in the room, "that I've been an idiot. No, Hermione. You don't need to repeat that. Or you, Fleur. I do have a few projects I'm working on – Fleur knows pieces of it – and I could use the help of two of the smartest witches I know." He smiled as Hermione and Fleur beamed at each other and had a sinking feeling that this… _intervention_ was what their 'girl talk' was about. Deciding to ask them later, he faced Neville. "Neville, how long can Colin stay with you?"

Neville shrugged. "As long as he likes. I have asked about other family but he had only had his paternal grandparents and they passed away three years ago. Gran pulled a few strings and he's now a ward of my House."

"Will it be a problem if he stays here for the summer?" Harry asked because he was unaware of the ramifications of Neville's decision. Judging by Fleur's incredulous look, he must be really ignorant about these matters. "I would offer Grimmauld but…"

"I'll face no problems." Neville shrugged. "I'll see about convincing my Gran or tutor to talk to Colin. They might be able to help him. Besides…"

Harry saw Neville hesitate and decided to give him a push. "Go on, Neville."

Neville seemed to gain confidence. "I've been thinking of picking one of our lesser known estates in Ireland and turning it into a safe house for our friends and their families. I still need to discuss the idea with my Gran but I'm sure she'll be supportive of the idea."

Harry smiled and patted Neville on the back in encouragement.

Fleur gave an approving nod. "Excellent idea, Neville."

Hermione beamed. Harry knew it was mostly because Neville was showing initiative, a sight none of them had ever witnessed since before the DA and the battle inside the Department of Mysteries. "That's a really good idea, Neville."

"I'll look over any estates I know." Harry supplied. "All the buildings are gone but I can set some of them up with the necessary protections and a bunch of tents for emergencies. I'll look them over and send you a list, Neville."

"Sure thing, Harry."

"Fleur, Hermione. Once we get back to Grimmauld, I'll give you guys the rundown of what I need your help with and we can get started on work."

"Finally!" Hermione pumped a fist in the air and promptly blushed as the others blinked at her antics. "Stop looking at me like that. It's a miracle we got the prat to accept help. I was worried he was going to grow a beard and live in a white tower."

"Hey!" Harry shouted in indignation as Neville and Fleur laughed.

* * *

 **June 9, 1996.**

Ron was not the wittiest wand in the group. He knew that, no matter how stupid Fred, George and Hermione thought him to be. But he could see

"I still think this is a mistake. They should be out there trying to arrest those bastards."

"The Aurors will arrest them, Ron." Hermione reprimanded him. "Our interview is standard procedure for Police, or Aurors in this case. Stop whining about it."

"I'm not whining." Ron felt petulant but he was damn well going to make this word heard. "Harry, mate, you have to agree with me. We really shouldn't be here."

To Ron's dismay, Harry agreed with Hermione "They are not going to abduct us, Ron. Stop worrying about it."

Before Ron could retort, the voice of the Ministry elevator broke it up with a chime and the sound of grills sliding apart.

" _Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services._ "

"Alright, Kids. Let's move." Arthur Weasley spoke in a booming voice, pushing Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny out the elevator. Turning to his friend, he asked, "You'll be okay there, Bob?"

Bob nodded. "I will." He wrestled a vine creeper that seemed more snake than plant. "I just have to get this upstairs."

Arthur stepped out as several ministry memos flew above his head and into the elevator and the grills closed after that as the elevator rose up. "Keep moving. We've only got fifteen minutes before the meeting starts."

"Relax, dad. We'll be fine." Ginny kept glancing around at the clerks, aurors and other ministry workers that walked past them in the corridors.

The group – Arthur, Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny – walked through a pair of large oak doors and stood in the Auror Bullpen.

Ron was looking at the space with a certain level of awe, watching the aurors in the rows of cubicles write in pads, shout to each other or walking between the rows. "This looks wicked."

"It's boring."

Ron turned towards the source of that familiar voice and found-

"Tonks!" Ginny said excitedly. "How are you?"

Nymphadora smiled. "Would be better if paperwork didn't exist. How are you guys feeling?"

"Much better if we didn't have be better." Ron complained.

"Be quiet, Ron." Hermione chided. "We're fine. Ron's just nervous and has a big mouth."

Ron harrumphed but kept quiet.

"If it makes any difference, I think this is stupid too." Nymphadora gave a smile which Ron returned. "Hermione, how are the jitters?"

"Much better." Hermione spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that Ron recognized as her 'I'm fine. Don't bother me' voice. "The Healers said my exposure to the curse was too small to cause any damage. I'm only having the occasional flinch or tremor which will go away in another day or two."

"Please duck next time you hear the magic words. I doubt people call you the Brightest Witch of your age for nothing."

Hermione nodded with a slight blush.

Nymphadora glanced at Harry who appeared to be absent and snapped her fingers in his face to gain his attention. "Stop worrying, Harry. There aren't any scheduling fuckups, I mean- muckups like the last time."

Harry gave a slight smile of reassurance. "Thanks for that little tidbit, Tonks."

Xxx shrugged and adopted a stern voice. "Here are the rules. All six of you will be interviewed in separate rooms simultaneously. Since it is an interview and _not an interrogation_ , your guardians need not be present. An auror will be present in the room with the Unspeakable who will be conducting your interview. No, you do not need to answer any question you are uncomfortable with. But don't lie. If you don't want to answer the question, just say so." Her voice quickly turned jovial. "That's that. You guys can wait with the other two over there until the interview starts. Which it will in…" She looked at one of the many bracelets adorning her left hand like a well fitted glove, "ten minutes. I'll come get you."

The group filed in the group pointed towards and found a small waiting area filled with quite uncomfortable looking chairs and couches. Four of the seats were occupied.

Neville noticed them the moment they entered and stood up just as Augusta Longbottom did.

Augusta spoke first. "Arthur Weasley. It's been a while since we've met."

Arthur gave a simple bow and kissed her extended hand. "Quite long, Regent Longbottom."

Ron almost rolled his eyes at the stupid greeting.

Augusta turned towards Harry. "Mister Peverell." She did not extend her hand this time. Ron wondered if it was an insult. "My grandson speaks highly of you."

Harry shrugged. "I'm pretty sure my reputation precedes me."

"Perhaps." Augusta commented as she scrutinized Harry in a manner that reminded Ron of the dragon from the First Task.

"Mister Peverell." Xenophilius Lovegood entered the conversation. "Luna has told me a lot about you. Told me you were responsible for her making friends this year."

Ron really, really wished that the Lovegoods would learn tact one day. Harry was looking really uncomfortable.

"Thanks, sir." was Harry's only reply.

"I hate to interrupt." Everyone turned towards the voice to find Amelia Bones flanked by Rufus Scrimgeour and Gawain Robards. "The interviews will be underway in a few minutes."

"How long will the proceedings take, Madam Bones?" Augusta asked in the tone she reserved for official events.

"No more than three hours, Regent Longbottom."

"Very well." Augusta appeared to lose any interest she had in the matter.

Amelia nodded. Ensuring she had the attention of all three adults in the room, she asked, "As Junior Auror Tonks informed you, this is an interview for the Department of Mysteries to determine the events that occurred within their level of the Ministry on the fifteenth of May, 1996. None of your children are suspects _nor_ will they be interrogated like one. They may answer the questions and leave at the end of the interview without as much as a citation on their record. Any questions?" The adults replied in the negative. "Head Auror Scrimgeour and Master Auror Robards will lead you to the interview rooms. Please follow them."

Augusta gestured for Neville to follow the group. "Go ahead, Neville. You can handle a simple interview, ca-" She stopped herself from uttering the words. "Go, Neville."

Neville simply nodded in a resigned manner and left the waiting area to follow the group of his friends, Arthur Weasley and Xenophilius Lovegood as they were being led by Scrimgeour and Robards.

Augusta watched the lot walk past the cubicles and enter the corridor were she knew the rooms were present. A quick wave of her wand erected an advanced privacy ward encompassing herself and Amelia. "Are you sure Croaker will hold up to his end of the bargain, Amelia?"

"If he knows what is good for him." Amelia growled.

* * *

 **Two hours later…**

Harry stared at the Unspeakable seated on the other side of the table. The sole auror in the room, Robards, stood a little to his left and back, just outside the privacy ward erected by the Unspeakable. The Unspeakable wore heavy black robes with a hood that was drawn back to reveal a handsome face.

"I've been sitting here for ten minutes, Mister Croaker, and you've yet to speak one word to me. You already took all our statements half an hour ago. What more do you want?"

"Mister Peverell." Croaker drawled. "I believe you'll appreciate the fact that you were not… interrogated further on the subject of your… dreams, especially it appears that these dreams you receive grant you a certain level of precognition, allowing you glimpses into the Riddle's plans." He smiled at Harry's look of surprise. "Do not look so surprised, Mister Peverell. The Dark Lord's true name is common knowledge in certain circles."

"We digress. I am sure you understand that the DMLE would be… _extremely_ pleased to have such a resource at their beck and call. Especially since the Dark Lord is back. A fact you have been quite outspoken for over the past year."

Harry filed away the fact that there were many people out there who knew Riddle's identity as Voldemort. "I told you already. I used to have those dreams but they stopped after the fight in the Ministry."

Croaker hummed. "From what our informants told us, the Riddle did try to possess you."

"He did." Harry replied in a neutral tone.

"And?"

"I threw him out."

"You were able to fight off the possession attempt of Riddle himself?" Croaker raised an eyebrow to indicate his disbelief. "Forgive me for being a little… skeptical."

Harry felt his mind drift as memories of the atrium rushed in. It took him a moment to regain control of himself and found Croaker looking at him in extreme curiosity. "I survived the killing curse. I don't see you being skeptical about that."

Croaker's lips twisted into a sadistic grin. "Since you seem to harbor misconceptions on the matter, _Mister Peverell_ , let me clear away your ignorance. There is no _definitive proof_ that would indicate that the killing curse incident of Halloween 1981 occurred at all. The late Chief Warlock and then Supreme Mugwump hid you away from us, the Unspeakables, before we could investigate the matter and Godric's Hollow was put on lockdown against all trespassers." He paused for a moment. "Had the Unspeakables, or worse, the _Clock Tower_ laid their hands on you, you would have been tagged as a _Sealing Designate_ , irrespective of your status as the _Boy-Who-Lived_."

"Sealing designate?" Harry asked in confusion. Even after learning everything he could about the man, it seemed that Albus Dumbledore had done more for him than he could possibly comprehend.

"I am sorry. I should have you realized you were an ignorant teenager." Croaker replied airily. "The Clock Tower, Mister Peverell, is more than the greatest research institute for magic on the planet. They are also responsible for policing matters involving dangerous magi and thaumaturgical abilities and are especially interested in matters that defy known conventions of magic. In this case, Sealing Designate is a label applied to individuals who possess or have experienced abilities or phenomenon that cannot be learned through study or inherited through blood or have simply never been witnessed before. Any individual affixed with the label no longer have any rights. They are immediately captured, incarcerated and are turned into specimens intended for research by the magi at the Clock Tower."

"Specimens?" Harry understood the meaning of the word. The inflection Croaker put in his explanation sent a chill down his spine.

"Yes." Croaker tilted his head. "These individuals are considered extraordinary, Mister Peverell. It is only right to study them in order that we may harness their ability. It is all for the sake of advancement of the magical community. In some cases, even Dark Lords are labeled as such."

Harry wondered if Croaker was threatening him. "Dark Lords?"

"Surely you agree that even a man like _Gellert Grindelwald_ is a well-spring of knowledge. The man ravaged the magical communities of Europe, North Africa, Eastern Russia and the Middle East for seven years and gave the ICW a run for their galleons."

"Grindelwald is a _Sealing Designate_? Dark Lord Grindelwald is being used for _research_?" Harry asked, unable to keep the surprise of his face.

"Mister Peverell, are you really so _naïve_ to believe that the ICW would hold _Gellert Grindelwald_ prisoner inside _Nurmengard_ , a fortress, every brick and piece of magic of which, was laid by his own hands? Surely, you believe that the ICW knows better than to do something so foolish."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. Deciding to ignore the insult to his intellect, he replied. "Either way, I do not see what that has to do with-"

"I'm not a bard, Mister Peverell. The Clock Tower supersedes the authority of British Government in matters involving magical phenomena and abilities. If a way to block the unblockable Killing Curse is known to an individual, _sealing_ one life to save a thousand is the right thing to do."

"For the Greater good?" Harry retorted, his fists tightening.

Croaker smiled in mocking humor. "Exactly."

Harry focused on his exercises in Occlumency. Croaker was a more experienced individual than him and more cunning. Losing his temper would dig a deeper grave for himself. "Maybe you're right. But you said it yourself… Me surviving the killing curse is purely a matter of public opinion backed by nothing except a scar."

Croaker's lips twisted into a smile. "Which brings us back to the original question. About those… dreams of yours."

Harry considered it for a moment. He was not going to reveal anything about the horcruxes to Croaker. If he did, they would definitely tag him as a Sealing Designate and he had no intentions of becoming a- a- _a lab rat_. Frowning, he carefully considered his words. "I have an extremely high resistance to the Imperius Curse. I broke Riddle's attempt on me on the night he resurrected."

Croaker simply hummed. _Interesting_. "Maybe that has something to do with it. Your resistance against the Imperius is easily verified and could provide evidence towards your apparent victory over his attempted possession of your body."

"If you say so." Harry replied neutrally. "I wasn't… informed that this… interrogation was to determine how good I am at fighting Riddle."

"Indeed." Croaker replied sullenly. "However, we are researchers at heart. Surely you would understand our… curiosity on such matters. After all, you are the subject of a Prophecy that pits you against Riddle and apparently… _used to share_ some kind of psychic connection with him as well."

Harry could estimate where it was leading towards, and he sure wasn't liking it. "What is it you want?"

"It is a known fact that Riddle has made use of certain fail safes to ensure his death does not come to pass. A theory easily proven as Riddle resurrected himself into a necromantic construct _after_ staying as a wraith for fourteen years."

"Thirteen." A part of Harry felt sadistic pleasure at proving Croaker's information wrong. "The entirety of my fourth year… he was possessing a hom- a baby."

"Did he now?" Croaker frowned. "How do _you_ know that?"

"From the same dreams that have ceased now, after I fought off his possession." Harry replied in a monotone.

"I assume that you are enacting measures to ensure that the Dark Lord's insurance against Death becomes void."

"Excuse me?" Harry retorted, feeling highly uncomfortable. This was risky ground, and he _had to play_ with great caution.

Croaker smiled at confirming his suspicion. "The Department of Mysteries could be of great help to you, Mr. Peverell, should you be… _amenable_ to quenching our curiosity. It is evident that even high-profile individuals like the Flamels have demonstrated their interest in you."

Harry suppressed the urge to snarl, his mental defenses on full power. Bringing a completely fake frown on his face, he answered. "Why would you think I'd do that? I'm just a teenager who's looking forward to his sixth year of Hogwarts."

"And here _we were hoping_ that the Chosen One would solve our problems for us." Croaker retorted grimly.

"I suppose we are both _disappointments_ , then." Harry returned in a languid tone. If Croaker realized it was fake, he did not reveal it

Croaker relaxed into his chair and stared into the eyes of the young man before him. From his passive abilities, it was clear that Harry Peverell had developed some kind of… passive skills in Occlumency. Based on the information collected on Harry Peverell over the years, those shields had developed very, _very_ recently.

 _Is it just a coincidence that Peverell demonstrates such a vivid change in his abilities and stance, on the eve of Dumbledore's passing?_

"Tell me, Mister Peverell, do you know the contents of the Prophecy that marks you and Riddle as enemies?"

"I have some idea as to the contents but they do not matter. I will have to face Riddle no matter what a prophecy or anyone else says."

Croaker had a tiny grin on his lips. _It's almost a misfortune that we must cross each other this way, Harry Peverell. It's been ages that I have had a dance like this._

"Very well, Mister Peverell. You may go."

* * *

 **Ten minutes later.**

"Thank you for accepting our request, Miss Granger." Croaker spoke, a smile in his voice, as he raised an advanced privacy ward around the table.

Hermione kept her hands folded close to her chest. Personally, she would have preferred to have a book in her hands. It would have helped her maintain her nerves in her current setting. "I would like to know why I am being interviewed again. I already told you everything and Harry had a second interview."

Croaker smiled. "I do not doubt that. Nevertheless, my colleagues brought your matter to my attention due to an interesting piece of evidence."

"What evidence?" Hermione decided to be defensive. She did not like man's tone nor the insinuations it brought on.

Croaker leaned forward. "Your friend, Harry Peverell, informed us about the dreams he was regularly plagued with from the summer of his fourth year to the end of his fifth year. He claims he stopped being plagued by said dreams since his last confrontation with Riddle."

"How do you know that name!?" Hermione screeched and then winced at her reaction. Croaker merely raised an eyebrow. "Nobody knew that Vold- Riddle was the Dark Lord."

"Miss Granger, I expected better from someone of your intellect." Croaker noticed Hermione's pursed lips. "The Dark Lord's identity, while not public record, is known in the circles that matter. Why, even those who support the Pureblood dogma possess the information. They simply do not care."

"Why not? They are all blood bigots, aren't they?"

Croaker suppressed his need to laugh. " _Such naiveté_ , Miss Granger. Despite all the words one spouts about pureblood or muggle-born or all the blather spouted by those with more muscle than brain, none of them matter in the true scheme of things." He gestured towards Hermione. "Take yourself for example."

"Hermione Jean Granger. Born to non-magical parents and a student of Hogwarts since 1991. Possess an Eidetic memory and the highest overall scores of the Hogwarts '91 batch for the past five years. Oh, don't be like that, Miss Granger. The DOM does keep an eye on Hogwarts for possible recruits. So do the Aurors and other Ministry Departments. As for your memory, it is an easy deduction to make when one holds the transcript of your interview. Your account was simply too vivid and detailed for any other explanation to fit."

Hermione scowled. "I don't see why that has anything to do with your beliefs."

"Never make assumptions in the absence of information. My mentor drilled that statement into my head and I am imparting to you." Croaker gave a disarming smile. "My point, Miss Granger, is that when and where it matters, blood or ancestry or your great aunt's first cousin holds very little value compared to your achievements. Even those you call bigots know this. It is why they follow him despite his muggle father and squib mother." He leaned forward, arms placed on the table, eyes mocking. "I hope you were not expecting the death eaters to bend over backwards to leave Riddle if you publish his name and history as you know it."

Hermione was silent because that was exactly what she was thinking. For the past week, she had been hoping to get that Voldemort's true history published in the Daily Prophet and that the reveal would cause people to leave or, at least, stop joining the death eaters. "How do you know it won't work?"

"Because I am a muggle-born." Croaker revealed with a flair. "The status of my blood did not matter when I was made the Director of the DOM."

Hermione jerked in surprise.

Croaker made a show of relaxing in his chair. "You see the state of Wizarding Britain and made the assumption that the rest of the world is just as foolish. The Clock Tower, the premier institute of research in the world, accepts none but the most exceptional individuals. The International Guilds only extend invitations to prodigies. The most powerful seats of governance on the planet are given to those with the drive and ambition to succeed."

"However, I digress. The reason I asked for this interview is because I wish to extend an offer."

"Offer?" Hermione stiffened, palming her wand. If the man before her noticed the action, he did not comment.

"I wish to offer you an apprenticeship with the Department of Mysteries."

"…Apprentice…ship?" Hermione could honestly say that she was gob smacked. "You want me… as an _apprentice_?"

"You would be under my personal tutelage with free reign to pursue any field of magic you please. You will have access to some of the most brilliant minds on British soil and cutting edge research unavailable to the public or the Ministry. If you manage to maintain the standard of work I demand, I shall sponsor your application to the Clock Tower. In time, you could even attain a mastery or two and, perhaps, be accept into the International Guilds."

Hermione was highly suspicious. The offer was too good to be true. "What do you get out of this?"

Croaker quirked his lips in a half-smile. "Hopefully, the prestige of teaching an exceptional apprentice."

Hermione shook her head. "What do _you_ want from _me_?"

"The DOM requires your help in keeping an eye on a certain individual." Croaker replied without hesitation

Hermione's eyes widened for a bare fraction before narrowing in anger. "I don't _spy_ on my friends!" She screeched

Croaker raised an eyebrow. "I have instructed you, Miss Granger. Never make assumptions in the absence of information."

Hermione fumed in her seat in silence.

Croaker drew a plastic file from the wizard spaced pocket of his robe and slid it towards Hermione. "This is the man we need you to keep an eye on."

Hermione's gaze switched between the file and a now silent Croaker for a few minutes before she picked up the file. It was surprising light and containing three sheets. A few minutes of perusal later, she closed the file and placed it on the table with a heavy face. "You must be joking, right?"

"Of course. The Director of the DOM meets with a fifth year student to perform a standup routine, do they not?" Croaker snarked. "You are slow on the uptake, Miss Granger. I suggest you remedy it."

"Why not ask an auror to arrest him? Or ask one of your own people to spy on him?"

"Matthias Fernard is a full-fledged Master of the Artificers Guild. He cannot be arrested unless the warrant is issued by the Guild. As for the latter question, he is not a Master because he can make a few pretty baubles, Miss Granger. Anything less than an extreme measure and he will see through the ruse."

Hermione chewed over the information. "How am I supposed to keep an eye on him if I don't know where he is?"

"That I can help you with." Croaker replied. "Currently, he is tutoring Mister Neville Longbottom for the summer. Come September first, he shall be assuming the position of Hogwarts' History of Magic Professor."

"Binns is gone?" To Hermione, this was in many way more shocking than Voldemort's return.

"Yes. I believe your current Headmistress Minerva McGonagall hired Fernard after he exorcise Binns."

"You're telling me he took the job by performing an exorcism?" Hermione wondered if being around Harry would ensure her life came straight out of a TV show.

"Yes." Croaker was quite amused by her thoughts. _Have to remedy those non-existent mental shields._

Hermione took a deep breath to calm her nerves down. Then another. And another. Accepting it would mean acting as a… _spy_ for the Department of Mysteries, the same department she and her friends had destroyed, and keeping an eye on a man who, by the file sitting on the table, looked like someone who was worse than Umbridge. Going by Harry's record with Hogwarts, this year the History Professor could be the one to put Harry and, by proxy, her friends in danger. She would be devastated if she had the chance to stop that and did not act on it. She would also gain an apprenticeship with the DOM, the most research intensive of the Ministry Departments and, if she could take this Croaker at his word, she would be accepted into the Clock Tower in order to obtain her masteries and maybe even become a Mistress of the International Guilds.

The problem was accepting it would be she might have to keep secrets from her friends, a notion that did not sit well with her. Especially after the year they had just gone through where everyone kept secrets from Harry for his own good.

 _He's keeping secrets from you now._ Her mind supplied.

 _Not anymore. He shared his projects on finding those artefacts that would defeat Voldemort. Fleur and I have been working on it since yesterday._

 _But he is keeping other secrets, is he not? You know that. Harry could never truly lie to you._

Hermione shook her head. She hated playing devil's advocate to herself. Her mind went on strange tangents when she did that. But it was a fact that Harry was still keeping secrets from her. While she would wear him down soon, the fact that Harry was now keeping secrets from his friends stung.

Looking Croaker in the eye, Hermione spoke in the voice that usually cowed the people around her. Ron called it her 'McGonagall mode'. " _IF_ I accept the offer, will I have to report on my friends?"

Croaker suppressed his smirk. _Legilimency was a very useful serious tool._ "No. You will not need to, as you so crudely put it, _spy_ on your friends."

"I have to report on Matthias and Matthias alone?"

"And any individuals we find of interest that are of particular danger to Wizarding Britain who are within your sphere."

Hermione scowled. "So, if you considered Harry a danger, I'm supposed to spy on him?"

Croaker interlocked his fingers under his chin. "Miss Granger, the Department of Mysteries does not care about sixth year students, no matter their fame. Your friend has the bare amount of skills necessary to defend himself and an unusually high resistance to spells or abilities affecting the mind. He possesses nothing that interests me." _At the moment._

Hermione wanted to refuse but thoughts of having access to more information and magic that would allow her to protect and help her friends swirled in her mind. "When do I become an apprentice?"

Croaker smiled. "The moment you accept my offer. Of course, it is given that you must maintain the grades I have come to expect of you."

"Will you offer everything you have just told me in writing?"

"Master-Apprentice contracts have evolved over the years. Currently, they are enforced by both written contracts and magical oaths in tandem."

"I will not spy on my friends and their families just because you ask me to."

Croaker could read the sheer resolve in those words. _Pity. I wish half my staff were as resolved._ "Very well, Miss Granger. I accept your conditions. Do you accept the apprenticeship?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded. "I do."

* * *

"Finally! We're done." Ron released a sigh. "I didn't think we'd ever get out of there."

"You are such a drama queen." Ginny said with a smile. "But I have to agree with you. Honestly, those interview chairs were killing my back."

The DOM Six plus Arthur Weasley, Augusta Longbottom and Xenophilius Lovegood were walking out of the oaken doors of the Auror Bullpen.

Ron was just about to comment on Ginny and her age when he felt an elbow dig into his ribs and Harry's voice whispered in his ear. "Let's not get ourselves hexed, Ron."

Wisely, Ron decided to change the subject. "So, Hermione, why did they interview you again?"

"Apparently, I gave the most detailed account-" Hermione trailed off as Arthur froze and Augustus and Xenophilius stop, causing the teenagers to halt abruptly.

Ron looked ahead to see what had caused the commotion and felt his blood boil at the sight.

Ginny whispered her estranged brother's name. "Percy…"

Percy stood in front of them in prim dress robes with a satchel hung diagonally across his left shoulder. He glanced at his family for a second before looking straight at Harry. "Mister Peverell, I need to-"

That was as far as he got before his head whiplashed to the right and he bodily crashed into the wall from the force of Ron's punch.

"Ronald!" Ginny screamed alongside Hermione.

* * *

 **Two hours later…**

"It's been two hours." Ron grumbled.

"They'll be out soon." Hermione pointed out.

"You told that an hour ago." Ron pointed out, watching in morbid fascination as Hermione and Fleur alternatively gazed between the pile of parchment spread over the dining table and thick books that he doubted he'd ever read willingly. They had left the DMLE hours ago and were now in the dining room of Grimmauld Place. "He better tell us what's going on though."

"He will, Ron." Hermione answered distractedly as she quickly flipped between pages and consulted with Fleur. "Harry knows better now."

Ron would have nodded but seeing as the two witches were engrossed in their work, he simply relaxed in his chair.

Ron had felt ecstatic when Hermione had Floo-called him the evening they returned from Neville's house and told him that Harry had finally caved and was going to be stop being a prat and let them help. Ignoring his mom's words, he had shown up at Grimmauld Place and found his best friend since the first trip on the Hogwarts Express telling them what he was doing so far and what needed to be done. Sure, Harry only told them they needed to find a set of artefacts and destroy them to stop Voldemort but it was much better than Harry acting like he had no one to help him. Sure, Harry had asked for a set of secrecy vows from them but it was a good way to protect it from some mind reading bastards and ensure Harry and their friends were safe.

After vows were taken and Hermione's rants were cut off as soon as possible, Ron watched the two girls turn the dining room into a makeshift library and study table as they studied parchments filled with diagrams Ron swore looked like the love child of potions and divination. Luckily, he was not hexed for that comment.

Ron had been disappointed when he understood he could not help with whatever Hermione and Fleur but Harry had promised him he would need help soon and needed Ron to keep an eye on his brothers and family for the moment. The treacle tart on top of the cake was that Harry had promised to teach him apparition and a host of other spells soon. He had given Harry grief for keeping his apparition a secret as a joke but spent the past day helping the newly discharged Fred and George clear out their shop and recover anything that could be used again.

"I still don't understand why he have to leave Harry in a room alone with _Prefect Perfect Percy_." He spoke in a mocking voice.

"Because you socked him in the face before he could get a word out." Hermione responded glibly.

"He got a couple of words out." Ron retorted with a feral smile.

Hermione looked up, glared at Ron and returned to her overly thick book. "You punched your brother, Ron. He did not have the time to even explain himself."

"Git deserved it. And I still don't think it was a good idea for Harry to speak to him."

Hermione deadpanned. "Like we did not know that two hours ago. Got anything original?"

Ron growled. "He did not even speak a word to Dad or Ginny or me. He didn't even visit Fred and George in the hospital. Harry shouldn't have brought him here."

"That's Harry's decision, Ron. Need me to remind you that you stopped objecting when Harry made it loud and clear he would talk to Percy."

Rubbing his arm, Ron stared at the door in impatience to ignore the truth. "How long are the two of them going to take?"

Fleur decided to enlighten Ronald on his mistake. "There are three of them. Harry, your brother and that potions Professor of yours."

"Potions profe- You mean, _Snape_?" Ron blurted out. "When did Snape arrive here?"

"Half an hour after we entered Grimmauld Place and you cooped up in the dining room like a child." Hermione replied with a frown. "Harry called Snape at Hogwarts to come here and help."

"Wait! Let me get this straight. Harry called _Snape?_ Like _our Harry_ called _Snape_ , the same bloke who did everything to make our lives a living hell since first year? Seriously, what are you talking about, Herm- No. you know what? I'm dreaming. There is no way that Harry would intentionally call- Yes, I am still sleeping at the Burrow and this is all a twisted dream. That's why Percy-"

A single move and Ron felt his shins on fire. "Oww, Oww, Oww! What the hell, Hermione?" He yelped jumping around the room, rubbing his shins.

"Do you feel awake?" Hermione replied darkly. "I can prove it again if you want."

Fleur giggled.

"But-"

"Shut up." Hermione barked.

"Okay, okay, sheesh!" Ron raised his hands in surrender. "You know you're scary, you know. Intelligent, but scary."

Fleur chortled again as she turned towards the other room, where Harry, Percy and that professor clad in black were having a discussion.

* * *

 **Meanwhile…**

Severus Snape lifted his head out of the pensieve and took a step back from the silvery fluid, his expression grim. "The memory has not been tampered with in any manner. Save for a few memory charms that are commonly associated with secrecy oaths, there was no malicious intent that I could detect."

"So, he's telling the truth." Harry concurred.

"So it would seem, Potter." Snape returned in a neutral tone. "Nevertheless, the Headmaster made no mention of any agreement with Percy Weasley. It would be in your best interests to remain cautious."

Harry stayed silent.

"I showed you the memories. What else do I need to do to show I'm telling the truth?" Percy scowled.

"Silence is a virtue, Mr. Weasley." Snape sneered. "Irrespective of the truth you have shown, you have yet to reveal your agenda in meeting Potter."

"What do you mean?" Percy defended.

"Fudge is going to be thrown out on his arse and all those who worked with him are going to receive a similar reception. It would be in your best interests to ingratiate yourself with the person who will hold influence in the coming government. With the Dark Lord's return confirmed by the Ministry itself, Potter's fame is at an all-time high with every Lord and Lady clamoring for his support and every media and news outlet singing his praises." Snape replied in a silky tone that sent shudders down Percy's spine. "It is possible that Albus Dumbledore and you held a treaty and you were simply playing a role but it is just as likely that you are an ungrateful brat who licked Fudge's arse every time he asked."

"What—you?" Percy growled indignantly.

Snape's lips curled in amusement. "If you were to share the information in front of me, I'd consider changing my opinion."

Percy glared at the man for a moment. "You are free to form your opinions, Professor Snape. I cannot say I was close to Professor Dumbledore. I can say that everything I did I did to honor the life-debt that the House of Weasley owed Harry Potter who is now Harry Peverell of the Most Ancient House of Peverell."

Snape's lips curled further.

"The information I have is for Harry and Harry alone. If _Harry_ wishes to throw me out without listening to me, it is his prerogative."

"Enough of this bickering." Harry replied sternly, making the two of them shut up with Percy shocked by Snape's silence. "Percy, please stay here. I will be back shortly. Professor," He turned to Snape. "Thank you for your help."

Snape stared at the boy silently for a moment. "If that will be all Potter, there are matters I need to attend to at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded. "I'll walk you to the Floo." He walked out of the door with Snape following him, leaving Percy alone to his musings.

* * *

"Weasley is speaking the truth, Potter." Snape muttered softly, as he walked beside him. After Harry had risen from his comatose state after his suicide attempt, Dumbledore had explained to him about how Snape had been working as a spy for the Order in an effort to fulfil the life-debt that he owed his father, James Potter, and for the fact that Lily Evans was his best friend a long time ago. It had led to one of the most uncomfortable moments in his life at Hogwarts – having a civil conversation with _Snape_ of all people about his _mother_ , Lily Evans Potter.

"I thought he would." Harry murmured with a chuckle, "Mrs. Weasley would be very happy."

Snape sneered at that, although his expression was not as cold as it had been over the years. As they approached the parlor, he stopped in his tracks. "Potter?"

Harry stopped on his tracks, and without turning behind, muttered softly. "Yes, Professor?"

"You know everything. You know how I have been a slave to two masters in hope of atoning for my sins. What I don't understand is why you are still fighting against the Dark lord?"

Harry chuckled. "What would you have me do, Professor?"

Snape's lips thinned. "Your parents died to save you, and so did your godfather. Leaving this madhouse of a country and living your life would be a good option."

Harry stayed silent for a moment. "The prophecy does mark me as the Dark Lord's equal, Professor. Professor Dumbledore left me certain tasks to accomplish, things I must do for people to have a chance to end Voldemort."

"But why?" Snape nearly snarled. He knew the boy was not sharing the whole truth but understood that he would not gain anything if he pressed the boy. " _Screw Albus Dumbledore_. He manipulated your entire life, and literally raised you like a pig for slaughter. How in seven hells do you even _imagine_ yourself as the Dark Lord's equal?"

"Maybe it is the Gryffindor bravery in me, Professor." Harry chuckled darkly.

"You?" Snape snarled, his eyes blazing in anger. "Stop behaving like your _father_ ,Potter. It'll only lead you to an early grave." He held Harry's shoulder tightly before shoving him, making him almost fall down onto the floor. "In the end, all you're doing is imitating what fools like Albus Dumbledore and James Potter believed. _Gryffindor bravery! Don't make me laugh!_ Just because the idea of the _Boy-Who-Lived_ consumes you does not mean you can be the force opposing the Dark Lord. It is the height of hubris!" He was yelling by the end of his statement.

"Isn't that hypocritical of you, Professor? You're also fighting against-"

"Your parents were consumed by foolish ideals of bravery and honor and were led to their deaths. You are driven by the ridiculous obsession of sacrificing yourself for others, blind to your own value. If that isn't hypocrisy, then what is?" Snape's eyes were literally bulging out of his eye sockets in rage.

Silence.

"Answer me, Potter!" Snape barked.

"You are right, Professor." Harry replied in a small voice, turning back to face the man. "I'm a Fraud, a hypocrite. I cannot save anyone. How could I when I don't even know whom to save to begin with?"

"What do you-?"

"I never believed myself to be a saviour. How could I, when all my life I hoped for someone to come and save me? And all I received were crushed dreams and tattered hope. All my life, I've fought a losing battle. I've run from it, but it always arrives. Maybe other people aren't important, maybe they don't deserve it. But if I don't fight, I will be dragged down to their level." Harry stared Snape in his eye. "I cannot run, Professor."

Snape glared at him. Harry stared back simply.

With a tumultuous effort, Snape looked away. "I will obliviate myself of this meeting after I reach Hogwarts, for both your and my own safety."

Harry nodded.

Snape walked up to the Floo. He threw the powder from the pot, as the fireplace burst into emerald flames.

"Professor?"

Snape did not turn around.

"You made one mistake in your observation, Professor." Harry replied softly. "At first, it was just admiration. Saving people, just like my parents saved me. Now… it is a dream for me. The unfulfilled dream of a man who was not able to help anyone, no matter how hard he tried, and it cost him _everything_."

Snape spun around, his eyes bulging in realization as he stared at the boy he loved and hated in equal measure.

"I was there during his final moments. I know who he was, Professor." Harry smiled. "I considered myself honored to have known the man."

Snape stared at him for a moment before he turned away and stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a burst of emerald flames.

* * *

Harry entered the small conference room where Percy was bound to his chair by a modified petrification hex and a sticking charm.

"Believe me now, Mister Peverell?" Percy did not sneer but it was close.

Harry stared at the estranged Weasley for a moment before he dispelled the magic holding Percy with a wave of his wand. Picking up Percy's wand from the nearby tea table, he tossed it towards Percy. "Did you really need to fulfill a life debt I did not ask for?"

Percy holstered his wand. "I did not do it for you, Peverell. I did it for the Ancient House of Weasley. I did it for my family."

Harry sighed. "Why do _you_ want to arrange a meeting between me and Lord Greengrass?"

Percy held back words. He really hated it when Harry displayed his ignorance. "Because he promised to protect my family."

Harry tilted his head. "And you believed him?"

"He's a better option than you at the moment."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry's narrowed gaze rested on Percy.

Percy looked Harry in the eye. "I do not like you, Harry Peverell, nor your effects on my family."

"Effects?" Harry echoed in confusion.

Percy gave a minute nod. "First year, Ronald was nearly clubbed by a troll, was almost suspended because you tried to smuggle a dragon instead of informing Dumbledore who would have helped and nearly got him killed when you dragged him into an adventure in the _forbidden_ Third Floor corridor."

"Second year, you encouraged him into stealing a flying car, dragged him into a forest of acromantula and almost got him obliviated by a fraud and eaten by a basilisk. Ginny nearly died because You-Know-Who wanted revenge on _you_."

"Third year, I was lucky that none of my brothers or sister were kissed by dementors. Last year, Umbridge turned him into a target because of you. He did not heed my advice because you were his friend and he followed you into a trap filled with death eaters and You-Know-Who himself because he is that reckless and you are the major cause. My sister followed you. My twin brothers quit school without their NEWT's because of you."

"My father nearly died in hospital because of Dumbledore's need to protect you. Need I to elaborate further?" Percy fumed.

Harry crushed any emotion he felt under extremely powerful dampeners. "Funny. I didn't see you showing up at the hospital to see your father or brothers. And you didn't do anything to Umbridge either."

Percy snorted grimly. "By the end of the year, I had enough evidence on Fudge and Umbridge to crucify the lot of them without the blame being pointed on me. Even if I did nothing, what about you? You could have used your fame to end their slanderous campaign against you. When they broke over thirty rules during your trial, you did not even have the temerity to point it out. Instead, you sat there like a meet little kid."

Harry realized Percy must have been preparing this rant for a long time. Strangely, the snarky part of his mind did not have any smart retorts.

Percy used his Occlumency exercises to bring his anger back under control. "I do not like you, Harry Peverell. People around you have a tendency to get exposed to danger and die. I want my family to _live_. So, if you care about them, you will attend the meeting with Lord Greengrass and listen to his proposal. After that, I don't care if you accept or reject him."

Standing up, Percy left the room with a terse, "I'll show myself out."

* * *

"What was that all about, mate?" Ron asked with his usual bluntness as Harry walked into the dining room and occupied the empty chair at the head of the table. "What's with the deal with Weatherby?"

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. It felt good that the apple did not fall too far from the tree and everything Percy did was nothing more than an act to protect his family and help Harry. However, the real reason behind the meeting had not been a pleasant matter to hear. _Neither where Percy's feelings regarding me and my friendship with his family._

He looked up to find Ron, Hermione and Fleur staring at him in curiosity. He let lose a troubled grunt and lifted his hands up to the heavens in frustration. "It seems everyone wants to have a piece of me."

"Who, mate?" Ron inquired.

"Do you know who Tristan Greengrass is?"

"Greengrass?" Hermione scrunched her face in thought. "There is a Daphne Greengrass in our year."

"That's her." Harry pointed out. "Her father requested a meeting with me-"

"Greengrass's father? Why?" Hermione questioned.

"-on my own terms." Harry finished.

"Well, just say No." Ron declared. "They are Slytherins. Probably trying to capture you for You-know-who."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Seriously Ron? Harry said they are meeting on his terms. If Harry asks, they have to show here while he have Moody around." She paused for a moment. "Are you going to meet him, Harry?"

"I don't know." Harry confessed. He was going to meet the man but it would be a nice idea to at least pretend to his friends that he had a choice. "Percy mentioned something that makes it difficult to ignore the meeting. On the other hand, this could very well be a trap."

"What did that arse say to you?" Ron inquired.

Harry shook his head. "Never mind what he said. The point is I cannot ignore it. The question is…. What to do now?"

Ron muttered a soft expletive.

"Well Daphne isn't a Malfoy," Hermione pointed out, biting her lip in thought. "She's a bit of introvert-"

"Pot, meet Kettle." Harry smiled and received a swat from Hermione.

"Prat." Hermione shook her head. "As I was saying, Daphne's a studious student and one of the top five on our year. I mostly saw her around the library when I visited the place."

"You practically lived there, Hermione." Ron retorted with a snort.

"Hush you!" Hermione admonished. Turning to Harry, she spoke, "I'll be honest, Harry. I don't really know much about her. She keeps to herself and I don't really know of any friends she has."

"Hey, you aren't talking about the _Ice Queen,_ are you, Hermione?" Ron blurted out.

"The _what_?" Harry and Fleur asked in unison.

Hermione giggled.

"Seamus told me," Ron clarified. "About some Greengrass girl who's known as the Ice Queen of Slytherin House. Intimidating, intelligent, hot as fuck-?" He stopped in horrified realization. He quickly backpedaled to avoid an angry Hermione. "Seamus's words. Not mine."

"While I would prefer that you not use such language to describe a girl," Hermione glared at Ron, "the Ice Queen is _Astoria_ , Daphne's sister who will enter her fifth year. Daphne is in _Ravenclaw_."

"Ah, she's gotten an elder sister then." Ron declared.

"Younger. Daphne's in our year, Ron. I'd have thought you'd know her after five years."

"Ravenclaw; and her sister's a Slytherin." Ron shrugged, as if that explained everything.

"You did not even know she had a sister." Hermione deadpanned.

"The Lord of a Noble and Ancient House requested a meeting on your terms, Harry." Fleur replied after ruminating on the matter. "Saying No is political suicide."

"What would you have me do, Fleur?" Harry asked disdainfully.

"Answer them. You can always prefer to meet them at Gringotts, its neutral territory. Alternatively, you could just call them here."

"Wouldn't that be a security risk?" Hermione asked, troubled.

"Considering the state of the wards?" Fleur snorted. "Hardly. The wards are just short of throwing a killing curse to hostile invaders." She snorted again. "Good choice, Harry."

"People hostile to me have no business coming here in the first place." Harry sneered.

"Should've used the wards to fry that leper." Ron muttered, still thinking of Percy. Hermione sent a scowl at him, which he ignored.

"Don't you think you're being a little too…?" Hermione tried.

"Hermione?" Ron defended indignantly. "That ponce said told dad off in his own office and threatened to call the Aurors when Mum was on his doorstep. That ruddy snake attacked Dad, and the git did not even care. Fred and George lost everything and that pompous arse-"

"He did that on Dumbledore's orders." Harry tried to pacify him.

"To hell with that! Dumbledore's dead, isn't he? Couldn't he have visited Fred and George when they almost died at Saint Mungo's?" Ron demanded loudly.

Harry raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not defending him, mate, but it couldn't have been easy for him as well. Saying all those words to your parents. Renouncing his family. He did all of those things because Dumbledore told him. Just like an _Order_ member."

"But-"

"Harry's right you know," Hermione consoled her second oldest friend. "I'm not saying he wasn't a git, but at least you know that it was all pretending for the sake of helping Professor Dumble-"

"So he should have bloody told us!" Ron retorted hotly.

"Now I understand why Percy looked sickly pale before we left the Ministry." Harry answered with a chuckle.

"I might have thrown a couple of George's prank spells." Ron muttered, his ears growing red with embarrassment.

"Oh Ron," Hermione replied with exasperated fondness. "Never change!"

* * *

 **Holy Shit! Another AN? Didn't we have one already?**

 **P.S. We designed Wilbert Croaker on the character sketch of Arcturus Peverell himself. Anyone who's even remotely disgruntled on the character description can take his/her concerns to him. I'm told he does a good job at replying to PM's.**

 **P.P.S. (From Arcturus Peverell):**

 **This is addressed to one special immature excuse of a human, who loves to antagonize authors simply because he doesn't have anything better to do with his miserable excuse of a life. Yes, Mr. "hump a laurel tree or a flower" guy, I am talking about you.**

 **I and my co-author certainly believe that you should get yourself out of the fanfiction website, for the sake of other readers and yourself. As authors, we expect readers to get us constructive criticism as a review, and not someone who hides behind a GUEST review and spews mindless drivel just because you think it gives some reason to your own meaningless existence. To be honest, we kind of think that you are a right bastard and are the worst kind of individual out there. A negative one.**

 **Thank you.**

 **P.P.P.S.** _ **Phew!**_ **The postscripts became longer than the main AN. Should have reversed the Order. Oh any way, we are done reworking as is, so we'll just stick with this.**


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